Cabin in the Woods
by LexiMoonshine
Summary: Daryl finds himself back in the last place he wants to be- his childhood hometown. He can't wait to settle his deceased father's affairs and get back out, but a run-in with a pretty blonde who doesn't know this-or-that about the Dixons has him re-thinking everything. [Bethyl, AU]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One- D

Daryl stood at the threshold of the old trailer, staring into it as though ghosts resided within its thin, smoke-stained walls. Although the funeral had been three months ago, everything in the place was still pretty much how his father had left it. Newspaper, beer cans, wrappers, cigarette butts, and other assorted trash littered the floor. Broken shards of glass lay in one corner by the TV, which had three bullet holes in it. Daryl can still remember his da' shooting stuff off of the TV for target practice. His da' had done shit like that since Daryl was old enough to retain memories.

Daryl had slept on the couch most of his life. Never had a room of his own; not since his mom had passed out and burned their house down with her inside of it. He'd been six or seven at the time. His dad moved them into the outskirts of town, in this shithole of a trailer secluded in the woods. It had one bedroom, so he just crashed on that ugly, flat orange couch with a pillow and a sheet. Merle was hardly ever home, anyway. Daryl had hated sleeping out there when his dad was home, though. His da' would get lit and start shooting random shit he placed on top of the TV. Bottles, lamps, picture frames… whatever he had on hand. The loud pop of the gun and the shattering of glass always had Daryl's nerves on edge, and he could never go back to sleep after it was all over. Once, when Daryl was the ripe old age of 10, he asked his da' to stop so he could sleep. The next morning, Daryl was so sore that it took him twice as long to get ready for school, and he got licked a second time for missing the bus. His da', Lonnie Dixon, had been one mean sonovabitch.

He stood there, unsure of what to do. The whole place was overwhelming to him. Every time he walked through the door, the skeletons in his closet rattled, and all he could think about were the beatings, or the screaming, or Merle and da' punching it out, throwing each other into walls. The first thing he did when he got there after his dad died was open all the windows to air the place out. It still smelled like smoke in there, though. He doubted that would ever go away. The furniture was the same shit his da' had for the last 30 years of his life; hell, it was old and worn out when Daryl was a kid, and it'd never been replaced. There were burn holes in everything from dropped cigarettes, and even the ash trays still had heaps of butts and ashes in them.

Daryl didn't want to stay there. He wanted nothing better than to walk away and never set eyes on this hellhole ever again. But with Merle in the pen, Daryl couldn't afford the rent in their last apartment, and he was evicted. He'd slept in his truck for a couple of weeks, trying to decide where to go from there, when he got a call that his da' had suffered a heart attack and died sitting in his lounger. Daryl's eyes shifted over to the olive-green monstrosity, and he wished, not for the first time, that his da' had been smoking when he died, and just lit the whole goddamn place on fire and been done with it. Hell, it'd be like an old Dixon family tradition.

With nowhere else to go, though, Daryl had crashed in the old trailer, haunted or not, and hoped for the best. Getting the job at the mechanic's shop in the next town was pure luck; he was thankful that the owner of the shop had relocated from out-of-town and didn't know this-or-that about the Dixons. With Merle in jail and all of Merle's buddies off his back for the time being, Daryl just took to working his ass off at the shop. For now, there was no way he'd ever make enough to get his own place. Without Merle around to help blow all of his cash, though, Daryl had a real chance at saving up his money for an apartment, and maybe even a few pieces of furniture. In all his 28 years, Daryl Dixon had never actually had his own bed. Not a real one, anyway. Normally, he and Merle could only rent from the seediest of apartment managers, and they ended up sleeping on second-hand mattresses on the floor. In the other corner would be a futon and a TV. The rest of the place was usually loaded with weapons and drugs. Merle loved his weapons and drugs.

Back in the present, Daryl knew he needed to clear out his da's shit. Not only did the sight of how his da' had lived his final days unnerve Daryl, but he couldn't stand the mess or the bugs. But where to start? His eyes took everything in one last time before he made his decision.

"Fuck this," he grumbled.

He pulled off his greasy work shirt and tossed it into a pile of laundry near the kitchen that he needed to take to the laundry mat, and then dug through his duffel bag near the door for a clean shirt. He hadn't unpacked any of his stuff in the months that he'd been there; hardly any of his property had made it past the front entry. He pulled a plaid sleeveless shirt on over his wife-beater, buttoning up the front. Then he strapped on a few knives, grabbed his crossbow from the coffee table and stepped out, letting the door slam behind him, but not bothering to lock anything. Only a damned fool would rob a Dixon, anyhow.

Daryl stayed in the forest well passed the daylight, having walked his hunting path and checked all of his snares. He had two squirrels to show for the evening, so after he gutted and skinned them, he made himself a fire and settled down in the dirt to watch the darkness fall. The forest was alive around him, having accepted him as part of the natural order of things in the past few months. Birds continued chirping in his presence and everything kind of just got used to him being around. He liked it better in the forest, anyway. The air was clean and fresh, and he felt more comfortable surrounded by trees than walls. The trailer was oppressive, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could just get the hell out and be on his way.

He spent the night on the forest floor, spread out next to the dying fire. He hadn't slept so well in weeks, he realized as he got up, feeling invigorated and refreshed. It wasn't quite dawn yet, judging by the faint lightening sky peeking through the canopy above. He held his face up and closed his eyes to listen to the forest noises as he relieved himself on a tree. Once he kicked dirt over his old campfire, he grabbed his weapons and struck back out onto his hunting trail, intending to go deeper and bag a deer before the sun brought the heat out.

Daryl walked silently through the forest, careful to watch his steps and keep his eyes peeled for signs of prey. For as large as he was, he'd always had quiet footsteps. He'd like to think it was the hunter in him, through-and-through, but he'd be lying to himself. No, he learned to silence his footsteps at a much younger age. Moving across the trailer silently as a kid, too hungry to pretend to be asleep any longer, but afraid to make the wrong noise and wake his da' who was passed out on the recliner in the middle of the living room. His footfalls had been practiced and quieted through years of fear and avoidance. When he took to the forest with his soft steps, he was relieved to finally be the predator instead of the prey.

A couple of twigs were snapped along his trail, but the footprints were a raccoon's, and days old, too. He could faintly hear the river water as it rushed over the rocky banks about a quarter of a mile away. Deer usually slip down there for a drink in the early morning hours when the day is new and the water is still cold and refreshing. The sound of something large crashing through the thicket had him slowing his step and pausing to listen. A couple of footfalls and some thrashing, then silence. More rustling, and then a strange yelp sounded.

_Wha' the fuck was that?_

Daryl proceeded slowly, stepping off his worn path and into the underbrush beneath the trees, placing his footsteps very strategically to avoid crunching dead leaves or snapping any twigs to alert the animal of his presence. The sounds of struggling continued as he got deeper into the woods, and he realized that the animal must be caught in a large patch of bramble bushes. The thorns would make it hard for the thing to pull free very quietly, and it sounded pretty tangled up in there. Daryl was surprised that a larger animal would be dumb enough to wander into a bramble bush, though. They're native to that area, and grow in wild patches all over the place. Most creatures were smart enough to steer clear of the damned things.

He got close enough to see the brambles shivering; whatever it was, it was headed his direction. He brought his crossbow out in front of him and lined it up with where the animal would be breaking through, exhaling slowly.

Suddenly, the edge of the brambles was pushed back and he barely registered two blue eyes framed in dark lashes before his finger squeezed the trigger. The second he had was enough to flinch to the side, and the arrow embedded itself in the trunk of the tree not three inches left of the girl gaping at him from the bushes.

For a moment, the two just stood and stared at one another. The girl's eyes were as blue as the open sky, and wide in shock. She had a splattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and a fine sheen of sweat stuck the tendrils of blonde that had escaped her ponytail to her neck and cheeks. As Daryl wordlessly took in her appearance, he also noted the fine cuts all over her exposed skin, and snags in her clothing.

Finally, she turned her face to look at the arrow sticking out of the tree, then looked back at Daryl, her eyebrows pulled down into a scowl. "Are you _crazy_?! You almost killed me!" she screeched.

Pulled out of his shock at seeing her, Daryl's temper flared. "Hell yeah I damn near killed ya! What the hell are you doin' wanderin' around in the woods by yourself anyway? I thought you were a deer!"

"Obviously, not," she responded heatedly. "Are you even allowed to be wandering around with weapons killing things this close to town?" She began pulling on her pant leg impatiently, trying to disentangle herself from the thorny vines. She still looked visibly shaken.

"Ain't close to town at all," Daryl responded, watching her without bothering to offer her his assistance. He didn't trust himself not to throttle her for being an idiot.

"We're not?" she asked, pausing to look up at him. "How… how far out am I?"

Daryl scratched his chin, looking her up and down. He couldn't imagine someone getting lost this far out in the woods. Only the experienced hunters go out this far, and there weren't any inhabited houses nearby; only his da's trailer and the abandoned cabin that sat a couple of miles east of that, near one of his trails. The place hadn't been lived-in for years. When he was a kid and his da' got a real temper going, Daryl would sneak out and hike to the cabin to hide and give his da' time to cool down. As far as he knew, even townie teenagers hadn't known of its existence. Every time he'd gone there, it had been run-down, but clean. No camp fires, beer bottles, or porno mags at all. It was wholly untouched except for Daryl; his own private sanctuary.

"You're about 7 miles away from the nearest road," he said slowly. He noted she was wearing some sort of an exercise outfit. Her black pants fit snuggly over every inch of her, accentuating long, lean legs, and she was wearing an equally fitted bright pink top with a stretchy grey jacket over it. Every article of clothing had rips or snags in them from the thorns, and she wasn't carrying a backpack of any sort. Her shoes were teal, black, and grey, and looked brand new. They were definitely something meant for the treadmill of a gym or walking around on pavement. She definitely hadn't been hiking or camping around there.

She finished pulling herself free of the brambles and turned in a half circle, taking in her surroundings. "7 miles…?"

"Yeah," he said impatiently. "Now're you gonna tell me what the hell you're doing all the way out here?"

"Well," she said, beginning to look embarrassed. "I was out jogging-"

"_Jogging_?" he interrupted.

"_Yes_." She shot him a glare before continuing. "I was out jogging, and I got a little turned around. I was trying to find my bearings when this huge dog came out of nowhere and launched himself at me. He looked insane, and I just… I turned and ran. I didn't know where I was going, and then I saw all of these vines that looked like I could hide from him better, but they ended up being thorny. The only good luck I've had today was that he didn't come in after me."

"Most dogs are smarter thanta run into a bramble patch," Daryl said shortly, narrowing his eyes to show her he meant what was implied.

She looked like she wanted to retaliate, but seemed to think better of it. She pressed her lips together in a stubborn line and let the silence stretch out.

"Well, where am I taking you?" he snapped, irritated with the interruption to his Saturday morning plans.

She looked startled, then, and Daryl wondered if what he'd said came out sounding creepy. After all, he was covered in squirrel blood since he hadn't made it down to the river yet. He almost took out her eye with an arrow, and she was lost and alone in the woods wearing clothing that very plainly showed off how tight her ass was. He didn't blame her for being frightened. Hell, he was glad she looked scared of him finally. Maybe next time she had a stupid idea like going jogging alone in the woods, she'd reconsider.

"I can just… you can point me in the direction I need to go. I'm sure I'll find my way back if I just walk in a straight line…" she said quietly.

"Look, lady, you don' look like you know a whole hell of a lot about…" he looked her over one more time. "Well, frankly, bein' outside. There ain't no 'straight lines' in the woods, an' I can guarantee you don' even know which direction you're supposed to be headed."

She opened her mouth to interrupt, so Daryl held a hand up and continued, "You've already ruined my mornin' hunt. An' if I leave you out here and point you in a direction, you're not gonna make it back to your people. Or that dog'll find you again. He ain't gonna lose your scent that easy if he's hungry enough. Then I'll hafta waste another damn day out here when the sheriff calls a search party to find your lost ass. So just tell me where you came from so I can take ya back and get on with my day."

By the end of his rant, her cheeks were tinged in pink, and she looked indignant. She took a second to collect her composure, so he strode over and began working his arrow out of the tree trunk.

"There's a little cabin… you take the little gravel road off of highway 80- called Walker Way, and the cabin is a few miles down."

Daryl turned to look at her just as the arrow pulled free, and he stumbled a bit. "Wait, what? The cabin with the wrap-around porch?"

"Yeah, that's the one. You know of it?"

"I've seen it," he said shortly, eying her again. He wondered if she had the right cabin. She couldn't be possibly talking about _his_ old cabin. That place had no water, or electricity, and the entire inside was gutted. It probably didn't have any structural damage, but it looked like it'd take a hell of a lot of work before it'd be livable again, and the little blondie standing in front of him didn't look like she'd done an honest day of hard labor in her entire life. She must've had a pretty ambitious husband to move into a place like that.

He grunted at his assessment and spit, which made her nose wrinkle slightly in distaste. Then he began walking in the direction of the cabin, listening as she hesitated before following him, her footsteps crunching every twig and leaf in their path. When he heard her stumble over a tree root, he knew it was going to be an awfully long walk back.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh, wow. So, I posted my first chapter of my first fanfic, Cabin in the Woods, only this morning, and I've already gotten some reviews and lots of people following the story, and adding it to their favorites. You guys rock! I'm so excited that, even though I wasn't looking forward to writing again this weekend, I busted out chapter two for you guys. I'm feeling the love.**

**Anyway, in case it wasn't apparent, this is going to be a slow-burning Bethyl. I really think Daryl is a hard nut to crack and even in this AU, he'd be hostile and difficult. So, I hope you will enjoy his torment as much as I do, because there will be lots of it. Enjoy! And as always, if you leave me feedback and stuff, I will appreciate it, and it will make me motivated to write. Enjoy!**

**[I own nothing of the Walking Dead or its characters.]**

**Chapter 2**

Beth had been convinced that her hasty, ill-thought out plan to drop everything and move to Georgia was the worst thing she had ever done. At least, that's how she had felt as she stood on the porch of her newly acquired little cabin. The pictures online had advertised the cabin as quaint and homey. Normally, she'd never get a place without checking everything out, but this was a different situation. It was either buying a place on a whim, or sleeping in her car, because getting out of Chicago had been her number one priority.

The elderly man selling the place was polite and accommodating, which was reassuring. The little town Beth chose to move to only had 3,418 people as of last year's census poll. As such, it didn't have very many apartments to choose from, and most of them were tiny, to accommodate elderly living. The payments on the small cabin were cheaper than the rent for an apartment of equal size. This way, she could build some equity up, too. She'd never owned property before, and despite everything going on back in Chicago, the thought of having a place to call her own thrilled her.

So, she'd said yes. She had packed her bags, hopped into her car, and drove the long way down to sign the papers. She bought it sight-unseen, but the previous owner and the property inspector both assured her of its structural integrity. To her, everything else was secondary. Besides, she felt like having home projects to work on would take her mind off of the last two years and help keep her hands busy; it might help her heal and get back to a good place in her life.

After she got to the cabin and realized that it needed about as much work as she did to be fully functional, she had begun to doubt her spontaneity. But, Beth Greene was as stubborn as a mule. She came by the trait honestly, from her father, and the only person more stubborn than Beth was probably her older sister, Maggie. So instead of admitting she'd made a mistake, Beth stared down her ugly, run-down old cabin and accepted her new challenge. This place was going to be her new home, and a beautiful one at that.

Beth had then set off with a renewed sense of purpose. She spent the first week just cleaning; her cabin hadn't been lived in for over 15 years. The elderly man who owned it kept up with repairs, but had refused to live in it after his wife passed away. Beth could tell that his wife must've loved their little cabin, based on the worn-out curtains that looked like they had once been ruffled, and a cute country pink. There were also a few pieces of furniture still left in there, her favorite being an old-style rocking chair that was still in good shape. She had asked the owner if he wanted anything out of there before she took it over, but he insisted it was all hers to do with what she pleased. None of it was up-to-date or even remotely similar to her taste in furniture, but because she left Chicago with only what she could haul in her 2-door Audi coup, having a dresser and a table with two chairs was something to be grateful for.

The only thing she'd had to buy from town right away had been a mattress. She paid to have it delivered, but two men in a truck just followed her home with the mattress- something that made her oddly happy. She realized then that, despite the work needed on the cabin, and despite being surrounded by strange people and furniture that wasn't hers, Beth had made the right decision in moving.

Throughout the first week, she had also tried a different food place every evening. By Friday, though, she had a clear winner- Joe's Place. It was family-owned, like most everything else in town, and was run by a brother-sister duo named Sasha and Tyreese. Joe, Beth learned, had been their great-grandfather. Now, Ty ran the kitchen most days, while Sasha served food and kept their books. Beth liked Sasha immediately upon meeting her, and when Sasha learned that Beth was new in town, she immediately invited her to a girl's-night at her place that she and her friends did every Thursday evening.

Then on Saturday, there was a slight hiccup in Beth's new-found sense of independence and peace. She'd gone out for an early morning jog, hoping to scope out her acre and see what other roads or neighbors could be found in her area. She was surprised to find that her cabin was even more secluded than she'd previously imagined. The thought of no one being able to hear her scream if something happened made her nervous, but she put the thoughts from her mind and looked at the bright side of things. For instance, her property was gorgeous. Huge trees surrounded her little haven, and she loved the way the air smelled so clean and fresh; so unlike Chicago and their big city smog. She'd taken note of the birds she saw that day as she jogged, and kept watch of the trail ahead, careful not to let any roots trip her up. She'd left her iPod and phone at home, content to just listen to nature as she threaded her way through the trees. Then, everything had gone downhill.

First, there was that giant, russet-colored monster with jowls that spotted her on the trail and gave chase. She still couldn't believe that she'd dove into a thicket of vines and branches that were covered in thorns. She still had a patchwork of scabs trying to heal after that little mistake. Then, there was _him_. He had been inches away from shooting an arrow through her eyeball, and then had the audacity to act angry at her for being there in the first place. Like it was her fault she got chased down by a stray dog. His hands and wrists had been covered in what she could only assume was blood, and his hair had a leaf hanging out of it. He looked like the wood itself had spit him up out of nowhere.

Beth thought back to him throughout the day sometimes. She never learned his name, because after he led her the 7 miles back to her cabin in silence, he just stopped to glare at her like he was still mad about everything. When she introduced herself and thanked him for saving her, he had grunted and walked off. He was a little odd, but something in Beth's gut told her he wasn't someone she should be worried about coming back while she was alone in her cabin. He seemed more perturbed at her intrusion on his day than anything else. After they'd begun their trek back to her house, he hadn't said a word or looked in her direction. The walk was indeed as enjoyable as it could have been after the incident leading up to it, and Beth found herself in good spirits again by the time he left her at her home.

By the half of the second week, Beth had already been all over town. She bought some new clothes at every little boutique she went into and greeted the shop owners with enthusiasm and curiosity. She had acquainted herself with the layout of the main part of town, and had picked up groceries and supplies to stock her empty house from the grocery store. She picked up a gallon of sky blue paint from the hardware store, blushing when the polite young man behind the counter told her it matched her eyes as he was handing it over after mixing it up. Since she had still been waiting on a shipment of pots and pans that she had ordered over the internet, she ate small snacks and salads throughout the day, but continued eating dinner at Joe's.

Once that next Thursday had hit, Beth drove to Sasha's house, using the directions she had been given. As soon as she walked through Sasha's doorway, she'd felt an amazing sense of belonging; the other ladies there were just as welcoming as Sasha. A few, Beth had even met on her trek through town. Lori, the sheriff's wife, ran a clothing boutique a block from Sasha's diner. There was also a woman there named Karen, Tyreese's wife, who worked at the only bank Beth had laid eyes on in the square. The third woman she met was Carol, an older lady with short grey hair, a reserved demeanor, and strikingly blue eyes. The whole evening had been spent with wine and laughter, and hardly a craft project touched, (although, that's what they had insisted they got together for.) They assured each other as they left Sasha's that, _next week,_ they'd definitely do the wreaths they'd been talking about. Beth, who was threatened to be dragged back if they didn't see her there every Thursday night from then on, got in her car with a huge smile plastered on her face and a sense of peace that had settled over her soul.

After that, Beth had taken to bringing her laptop into the diner to work on. It was one of the few places in town that offered WiFi, and something Beth hadn't taken into consideration before buying a place in the woods was the internet connection. Her cabin, as it turned out, had none. But she enjoyed the steady stream of townsfolk, and Sasha insisted that she didn't mind a bit if Beth was there. She'd said something to the effect of a mouse taking up more room, which Beth appreciated. She was still careful to leave if the diner began filling up in a lunch rush, though. Aside from the noise distraction, she didn't want to be impolite and hold up a table that Sasha could make more money off of.

The week had flown by, and Beth felt like she'd done a satisfactory job of building her new life, juggling her job in Chicago that she now telecommuted to, and making friends. In fact, she'd hardly thought about Zach at all since she'd been there. Thank god.

She sent one final e-mail out and then closed her laptop, sighing contentedly. She gulped down the rest of her sweet tea as Sasha came over. "Already quitting time? Or do you want a refill?"

"No thanks, Sash, I'm finished for the day. I'm going to hit the grocery store before I come over tonight, though. Is there anything I can bring? Last week I practically came empty-handed."

Sasha smiled down at Beth and began clearing her plates. "You can bring whatever you want. The bottle of wine you came with last time was delicious. If you want different snacks, that's fine, too. Just make sure you pick up a glue gun. We _are_ _doing_ the wreaths this time!"

Beth laughed at Sasha's determination. Apparently, the girls had been ready to do the wreaths for two months now, but every time they got together to do it, there was too much talking and merriment that distracted them from the project at hand. Nothing, it seemed, ever got accomplished; and Beth was just fine with that.

Sasha walked off, but when she got to the counter, she noticed Beth digging through her purse. "Don't you leave me money again for those two slices of toast you ate, Beth. Do you hear me? That isn't worth my time to walk back over to this register."

She knew Sasha was just trying to be nice, but she didn't need free food from the diner, even if she only had some toast as an afternoon snack. So, she threw a twenty down on the table, to make up for all the other free food Sasha had been forcing on her, and slipped out of the booth before Sasha could say anything else. "See you tonight!" Beth said, winking as she exited into the humid August air.

After tucking her laptop and light jacket into the trunk of her car, Beth made her way to the grocery store on foot. Even for August, the weather wasn't terrible. Beth had certainly expected the heat to be much worse in Georgia, but she found that all the vitamin D she was soaking up must be good for her, because her mood had been better there than it had been up in Chicago for months.

Upon entering the store, she grabbed a plastic basket to carry her items in, and began a circuit around the outside of the aisles, starting to the left in produce. The fruit was always so ripe and appetizing that she had a hard time picking out what she thought she'd be in the mood for in the next couple of days. She ended up with practically one of everything. She grabbed a couple of bags of mixed lettuce and then headed over to look for more dressing and croutons.

As she was passing an endcap, she noticed a box of her favorite granola sitting on the top shelf. The lower shelves had different granola brands, but not hers. After she peeked behind every box she could reach, she glanced around for help, but didn't see anyone in the aisles. Tucking the handles of her basket into the crook of her elbow, she stepped onto the lower shelf and used the higher shelves to pull herself up. She had to stretch ever vertebrae she had, but she finally grasped her box of granola with the tips of her fingers. She pulled it closer and closer until she could get a good grip on it.

Beth grinned at her small accomplishment and held onto the box as she let go of the shelving and hopped down from her perch. Just as her feet landed on the floor, something solid rammed into her back, digging into her lower spine. She pitched forward, dropping her box and her basket, barely catching herself before she landed flat on her face.

"Sonofabitch!"

Beth stood and held onto her lower back where pain was radiating upwards from her spine. She felt like the skin was probably broken or scraped, but otherwise fine. She turned as soon as she heard the rough exclamation, coming face to face with the man from the woods. He had his hands clenched on his shopping cart, which is what she had apparently collided with as he was coming around the corner of the aisle.

"You sure are out to get me," Beth said, light-heartedly, still rubbing the sore spot on her back.

She realized as she stared at him that she hadn't mentally exaggerated what a lovely shade of blue her huntsman's eyes had been. He narrowed them at her now, like two slivers of tundra ice in his disgruntled face. "Tryin' ta off yourself, more like. How come every time I see ya, yer off doin' somethin' crazy stupid? Ain't you got a head on yer shoulders, girl?"

As he insulted her, though, she watched as he came around the cart and began picking up the spilled contents of her basket. She knelt down to help, and soon, all of her items were back in place, including her hard-earned granola.

"No wonder you ain't got no sense," he muttered, eying her basket of produce. "You eat like a damn rabbit."

Unable to help herself, Beth laughed at his assessment, earning her another sharp look from him. "As opposed to the shopping excursion you've got going on here," she responded, digging through his cart. There were a couple of frozen meals that could be heated up in a microwave, but the majority of his food items were in cans. He even had a package of assorted plasticware sitting there, and not one fresh fruit in sight. "Looks like you're getting ready to hunker down or something."

She flicked her eyes up to his and held his gaze as a grin spread across her face. "You think there's gonna be a zombie apocalypse sometime soon or what?"

If anything, his scowl got darker. She couldn't figure out why she was teasing this poor man whom she'd apparently done nothing but annoy on the two occasions she happened to bump into him, but there it was. She couldn't put her finger on why, but getting a rise out of her huntsman was a little fun for her.

"You ain't even gonna be around to see tha damn apocalypse the way you keep on," he said. "Runnin' into thorn bushes an' jumpin' offa shelves in grocery stores. What the hell were you doin' up there, anyhow?"

Beth could feel how big her smile was, and she probably looked like a lunatic, but she was happy to have finally run into the guy who led her out of the woods. Even though, she hadn't intended to _literally_ run into him. That was just the humor of life. His curt comments didn't seem as rude as he probably tried to make them sound, and she found herself completely humored by the whole exchange. "I couldn't reach the box of granola I wanted," she responded, pointing to her basket.

He looked at the granola, then back at her and she could see his jaw clench. Then he reached onto the shelf next to him, right around the corner from her, and pulled out the exact same box that was in her basket. It had been at arm's reach the entire time. At that, Beth laughed.

"No sense at all," he muttered, although his voice was less agitated sounding.

"Well," Beth said, taking the box from him, "now I have two."

As she stuffed the second box in her basket without breaking eye contact, she could swear she saw his lip curl up a bit in what could turn into a grin. She could tell he was holding himself in check, though. He didn't want her to know he thought she was amusing, too.

"My name is Beth Greene," she said, re-introducing herself to him, just like she had after they'd gotten to her cabin that fateful day in the woods.

"I know," he said, offering no further comment, including his own name.

Beth, her grin still plastered to her face like she was a silly 14 year old girl instead of a grown woman of 23, kept eyes locked with the huntsman, daring him to be sociable and at least tell her his name. His hair hung low in his face, but both eyes were focused on her from between the strands.

He cleared his throat and then said, "Daryl."

Beth felt her teasing grin drop into a smile, satisfied that she'd gotten something real out of him for once. "It's nice to meet you, Daryl."

He snorted, probably thinking that hitting her with his shopping cart wasn't exactly 'meeting' her, but he didn't say anything further. Just then, his eyes shifted to a spot over her shoulder, and all of the humor left his face, to be replaced by a blank, if not slightly hostile, expression.

Beth heard her name being called out, and turned to see Lori pushing a loaded shopping cart toward them. Next to her, Daryl let out a breath and steered his cart around her, striding off without looking back. As he passed Lori, the two eyed each other reproachfully.

Dumbfounded, Beth watched their interaction and wondered if maybe the two had ever had a _thing_. Daryl didn't really seem like Lori's type, but then, everyone has done something they're not proud of in their late teens, early 20s. Beth certainly knew that feeling.

Lori smiled as she stopped in front of Beth, greeting her with a hug as old friends would do. But when Lori pulled back, Beth could see the alarm in her eyes. "Everything alright?" she asked, staring Beth down.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Beth said lightly. "Just had a run-in was all."

"Believe me," Lori said, clearly looking relieved, "everyone has had a 'run-in' with a Dixon."

"A Dixon?" Beth asked, not sure what Lori was getting at.

"Gosh, I feel like you've been around a lot longer than a couple of weeks. I forget you're not from around here. Except for that Northern accent of yours," Lori smiled at her briefly. "The man you were talkin' to is Daryl Dixon. The Dixons, well… they're not real well-liked around these parts, you know what I mean?"

Beth nodded, but she didn't feel like she knew what Lori meant. Daryl seemed to care very little about what people thought of him, and he definitely didn't strive to make nice with her. But, he'd also escorted her back to her cabin when she was lost and helped pick up the grocery items she'd dropped when he'd accidentally run into her with his cart earlier. She didn't see him as someone so dislikeable that there needed to be a verbal warning label attached to him.

"Still coming over tonight then, I hope?" Lori asked, her face free of any traces of worry.

"Of course," Beth said, smiling back at her. "I'll see you at Sasha's at 8."

Maybe there, she could get some answers.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Your reviews rock! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. I was terribly horrified posting the first chapter online for people to actually read, so it's a huge relief that you've all responded well to it. And it's inspiring to me that you all love the little world I've created for Beth and Daryl as much as I do! So thank you again, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. =)**

**Anyway, without further ado, I give you chapter 3.**

**Chapter 3**

Daryl had become dispassionate about his Saturday mornings. For the last four months that he'd been back, Saturday mornings had been his escape. He'd gotten out of his da's trash heap, left behind his work, got away from everything in town that reminded him of his past, and he just hunted. It had been nice for awhile, but now reality was beginning to catch up with him, and he didn't like it one bit. His da's place was still pretty trashed. Daryl hadn't been looking forward to cleaning it, so he'd been doing a damn good job of avoiding it. When it came to working at the mechanic shop, he busted his ass. It wasn't like he was lazy or afraid of hard labor. But there was something about that trailer that made his gut clench every time he even thought about rummaging through his da's old shit. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Going out hunting to avoid his task, though, was becoming a bit of an issue. No matter how long he stayed out in the woods, no matter how many things he killed, that trailer was still sitting there waiting for him when he got back. He knew trailers couldn't have personalities, but he felt like the damn thing leered at him every time he got within sight of it. It mocked him, angered him, and scared him. It had his da's voice, and his da's terrible penchant for malice.

Saturday hunts were also becoming a headache because of another thing; another, very annoying thing, with a ripped jogging suit, golden blonde hair, and eyes as blue as the open sky. Daryl had never before been the type of guy to keep to a rigid schedule. He worked odd hours, rode Merle's bike when he felt like it, and hunted when he needed some escape. He did most things on a whim, in his own time. Ever since that fateful day three weeks ago when he almost took out that girl, though, things had changed ever so slightly.

_Beth_, he reminded himself often enough. _Her name was Beth_.

Now while he was out in the woods, instead of paying attention to the forest around him and the sounds of critters scurrying about, he found his ears straining for the sounds of rustling bramble bushes, or tennis shoes snapping twigs along a path. He also kept his eye out for that red mutt that she claims had come after her. He'd never seen a damn dog in the forest before or since.

He also never heard or saw any sign of her, though, despite the fact that he would find himself in the trees at the same hour every Saturday morning that he'd run into her that one day. He should have been thankful that she wasn't still out there trying to _jog_ in the trees like a lunatic, scaring all of his game away.

That's probably why he was looking out for her, he decided. Surely it was because he didn't want her impeding on his hunting grounds again. He hadn't had the chance to really ream her for being so far out that one day, anyway. She still didn't know it was his path she had followed. If he sees her out there again, he'll make sure she understands.

And then there's the problem of his trek home. He always did a specific loop around his area, and in the past, the loop had brought him within sight of his abandoned little cabin. But now, he felt uncomfortable walking that way, seeing white curtains in the windows of the cabin, and that damned expensive car parked out front.

And yet again, this Saturday morning had been like every other. He'd gone out with too much distraction on his mind and after wandering around the trees for awhile scaring off all of his game, he'd come back empty-handed. In fact, he was pretty sure that the distraction was worse this morning, after having nearly run the crazy girl over with his shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store on Thursday afternoon. Without the threats of wild dogs, bramble bushes, and redneck assholes shooting arrows at her head, she'd seemed to be in a much better mood.

Actually, it went beyond a better mood. If Daryl hadn't known any better, he'd have thought she seemed genuinely happy to see him again. Which made no damn sense, since he practically nearly maimed her every time he got close to her. A normal girl would have turned the other direction and split the minute she saw Daryl Dixon in that grocery store; not smile like an idiot and chat him up. This bramble-wrestling, shelf-hopping girl definitely wasn't normal.

With another ruined Saturday under his belt, Daryl elected to eat in town for breakfast. He headed for the only diner in town that had food he liked- Joe's. He pulled the door open by its wet handle and stomped his feet on the mat in the entrance, trying to get rid of most of the mud caked on his boots. The rain last night and early this morning had turned everything in town to mud, Daryl included, it seemed.

As he headed for a booth in the back corner, he caught the waitress' disgusted expression as she paused to watch him enter her establishment. Ignoring the dirty looks as he usually did, and as he had since he was a kid, Daryl planted himself in the booth, with his back against the wall. He wasn't one to people watch or enjoy the in-town scenery of the diner; he just wasn't fond of having his back exposed. Growing up with a brother like Merle and a dad like Lonnie, Daryl'd been jumped enough times to ingrain that particular tendency into him. Now that he was 28 years old and mean, the likelihood of being approached by someone harboring ill-will was very slim. However, as Merle always said, _once a Dixon, always a Dixon_. In this town, he couldn't be too careful.

The waitress finally came over, barely concealing her contempt for him, her brown eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. She definitely knew of him, alright. Merle was known for being a racist fuck, but Daryl had never really bought into that way of thinking. After all, his da' had been one of the worst human beings Daryl'd ever known, and his da' had been white. Regardless of how Daryl actually felt, though, he was related to Merle, and apparently no one in town was likely to let him forget it.

Her dark eyes bore into him as she stood poised with her pencil and order pad, not even bothering to fake him any courtesies. Beyond her elbow, Daryl could see her brother peeking out from the window of the kitchen, apparently making sure Daryl didn't cause her any trouble.

"Guess I'll have the breakfast platter. Eggs o'er easy. Think ya can manage that?" Daryl asked her with an edge to his voice. If they wanted to treat him like he was rabid, he'd damn sure be happy to act the part. As far as he was concerned, she could shove her attitude right up her ass.

Her lips tightened and she practically snatched the menu out of his hand before storming off to put his order in. She hadn't even bothered to ask him what he wanted to drink.

Daryl looked down at the table and realized droplets of water were falling from the tips of his hair. He unwrapped his silverware and used the cloth napkin to wipe off the table before putting it to his head and toweling his hair like he does after a shower.

He nearly laughed at the looks a couple of people shot his way when they noticed what he was doing. He leaned over to towel off the back of his head next. He was rubbing away when he was abruptly hit by the smell of nail polish and coconut. The combination was strange enough that he briefly wondered if he was having a stroke of some sort.

Then, an impish little laugh froze him in place. Slowly, he pulled the napkin off of his head and straightened up in the booth, where he found himself eye to eye with the blonde from the woods. He couldn't catch a damn break.

"Gosh, Daryl. You take cleaning up before breakfast to a whole new level, don't you?"

"I was wet," Daryl supplied lamely. For whatever reason, she made him feel very self-conscious.

"Everybody's wet," she replied, looking down at herself to prove her point. She certainly was wet, Daryl noticed. She was soaked, in fact, to the point that it made him downright uncomfortable. Her loose hair was plastered to her face and neck, parts of it even crossing over her throat and curling over the wrong shoulder. The grey shirt she had on was cotton and so thin in places that he could tell that the bra she had on was under it was bright green. The shirt itself clung to her like a second skin, contouring the swells of her breasts and even the dip of her belly button. He realized quickly that he'd been staring, and he couldn't recall for how long. He turned and looked out the window, realizing for the first time that the rain was coming down in sheets. He could feel his ears burning and hoped she couldn't tell that they were turning red.

Before he could think of anything to say or do, she took a seat in the chair across from him and plucked the extra menu out from behind the syrup. "Have you ordered anything yet?" she asked, perusing the menu.

"Yes," he snapped, feeling flustered at her proximity. Her nails were a dark, shiny purple, which accounted for the fresh nail polish smell. Every breath he inhaled now was _her_.

_Why the fuck did she have to smell like coconut_?

His rudeness brought a smile to her face, but she kept her eyes on her menu, flipping it over to browse the other side. He looked away from her again, and noticed that some of the regulars at the diner were staring. The confused expressions only irritated him further. _He_ knew she had no business sitting at his table and eating breakfast with him like they were good friends, or more. Apparently, everyone else knew it, too. Why was _she_ the only one who didn't seem to notice that she didn't belong?

The waitress spotted Beth sitting there and made a beeline for her. "Beth?"

Daryl tightened his hand on the napkin, preparing for the inevitable. Beth looked over and smiled genuinely at the other woman. "Hey Sasha! You've got quite a brunch crowd going right now, don't you?"

Sasha nodded, eyes flicking briefly on Daryl, then back, like she was unsure how to proceed. _Go ahead_, Daryl silently urged. _Ask her_.

"Sweetie," the waitress said softly, "What're you doin' here?"

"What, like I need a reason to come see you?" Beth teased, not catching onto the tension. "It's Saturday, Sash. I'm always here."

"Yeah, but I meant…" she trailed off into silence.

"Oh," Beth said, seeming to get it finally. But then she turned to Daryl and smiled as she explained, "I'm usually in here a couple of hours earlier than this on Saturdays." She looked back to the waitress as she continued, "This morning, though, my car was completely trapped in my driveway. All of the rain turned my drive into a swamp, and there was a LOT of mud. I got in to see if she could dig herself out, but the tires just spun and spun. So I just walked to town instead, and got caught in the downpour as I was right on your street. I hadn't thought to buy a raincoat or an umbrella yet. I'll probably have to do what Daryl did and use napkins as towels, I'm so soaked!" She chuckled at her own joke, but the waitress only cracked a strained smile.

Daryl felt his temper flare, but before he could make the waitress sorrier she'd said anything at all, the bell by the kitchen chimed and she seemed to snap out of her concern for the moment. She spun around and went to gather orders and continue serving her customers.

Beth's face dropped as she turned back to him. "That was pretty weird," she said. "Sasha seems _off_ today."

"She ain't off," Daryl said. "You just din't get the meanin' of her question."

Beth's eyebrows hiked down in a contemplative frown, so he tapped his finger on the table in front of her. "She means, why are you _here_?"

"You looked like you could use company," she answered, her tone so sweet and innocent that it was apparent she still didn't really get what the big deal was.

"I ain't the kind of guy that e'er looks like he needs company."

Before she could respond, the waitress came back with a tray. She set Daryl's food in front of him without bothering to make eye-contact, and then sat a plate in front of Beth that had something wrapped in a green tortilla, despite the fact that she never actually ordered anything.

"Thanks, Sash!" Beth gushed at the food in front of her.

"Your Saturday special; Ty was ready for ya," the waitress said, smiling at her briefly. "I forgot to see what you wanted to drink. What'll you have?"

"A water is fine with me," Beth responded, looking at Daryl for his order. The waitress glanced at him, so he responded, "iced tea."

When they were alone again, Beth began cutting up her food. "I didn't know you liked iced tea."

"Yeah, so?" He speared some egg with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Just didn't picture you for an iced tea drinker is all."

"I din't picture you t'be drivin' such a snotty little car, neither," Daryl said icily. He really wanted her to stop being nice to him and just act like everyone else does around him.

Instead, she smiled at him like he'd revealed a secret to her, and asked, "Oh really? And what _did_ you picture me driving, anyhow?"

He paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth when he realized what she was getting at; like he thought about her at all. If only she knew she'd been the disturbance of most of his Saturday hunts lately. "I don' _picture_ you in anythin'," he responded, hoping to drop the conversation altogether.

"Oh," she said, looking down at her plate. Her cheeks were turning red, and that's when he realized his last sentence came out wrong, too. Damn, but that girl twists him up.

"Not like that," he said between clenched teeth. "I jus' meant, I don' think of you drivin' around an' shit. In fact, I'd rather not think 'bout you drivin' at all. You're probably a danger to other people on tha road. Can't even walk through a grocery store without gettin' in an accident."

He stabbed his food with more force than necessary, unsure as to why he was blathering on like an idiot and kind of making jokes at her. He glanced at her from under his hair and sure enough, she was grinning at him like she had Thursday afternoon at the store.

"So what do you drive?" she asked politely. "You know, when you're not behind the wheel of America's most dangerous shopping cart?"

He felt himself smirking. She was mouthy for such a cute little thing. "I have a truck. Sometimes I drive my brother's bike, too."

"I didn't know you had a brother. What's his name?"

"Merle," he said, eying her to see what her reaction was.

"_Merle_," she repeated, wrinkling her nose delicately. "That's a strange name."

So she hadn't heard of his brother. Interesting. Usually when someone said shit about a Dixon, it was Merle that was mentioned the most. Merle was like his da', tough as nails and mean as hell. He found himself asking, "How long've you lived here for, anyway?"

"About a month," she replied. She smiled at him before taking another bite of her weird food. She seemed to like it when he asked her questions.

Daryl grunted. He found that he had a thousand other things to ask her, just sitting on the tip of his tongue. Did she have any siblings? Where was she from? Why hadn't he ever seen another car parked outside her cabin? Didn't she have a boyfriend or a husband or something? And why _that_ car? That damned expensive-ass car, sitting useless in her driveway because it was outdone by a little Georgia mud.

"You need gravel," he said.

"Gravel?"

"Yeah, gravel. It'll help keep that stupid car o'yours from stickin' to the damned driveway e'ery time it rains a bit."

Beth nodded. "That's a good idea, Daryl. Thanks. There's so much work to do on the cabin; I made a list, but it's a bit overwhelming. I hadn't even considered gravel, though."

"Well your boyfriend shoulda considered it. Damn stupid of him, if ya ask me."

Beth removed the napkin she'd been wiping her mouth with, and Daryl saw one of those damned mischievous grins plastered on her face. "What makes you think I've got a boyfriend?"

"A _stupid_ boyfriend," Daryl corrected her. Finished with his breakfast, he piled his silverware and napkin onto his empty plate. The waitress must've been watching them like a hawk and he hadn't even noticed; she was right there to replace his plate with two checks before he even saw her coming. Even though she had the iced tea pitcher in her hand, she didn't offer Daryl a refill on his empty glass. She smiled briefly at Beth, as though making sure everything was alright, and then left again.

"Well, I don't," Beth said. Daryl frowned at her, not sure where she was coming from. "Have a boyfriend," she clarified. "Stupid or otherwise."

He ignored the weird feeling in his gut. "You can't repair that damn cabin all by y'rself. That's too much work." He felt annoyed at her again. That cabin was out in the middle of the woods, miles from anyone, and very old. What the hell was she thinking, moving all the way out there by herself?

"Are you good at fixing things?" She asked, her implication hanging in the air.

Daryl decided the conversation had gotten into too dangerous of territory for him. She already knew too much about him as it was, and she was still oblivious to the fact that he was one of the blackest sheep the town's ever seen. He shouldn't even have stayed and eaten with her, and he damn sure shouldn't be at her cabin helping her fix things. This broad was way too trusting; it was a wonder she had made it this long.

"No, I'm not," he said, standing and digging a $20 out of his wallet. He looked at his check and saw that his total was only $8.64, but he couldn't bring himself to sit around any longer and wait for the waitress to return. Besides, Beth's food couldn't have been more than his, either; a twenty more than covered breakfast. He dropped the bill on the table, mumbled about having things to do, and left.

Once he was outside of the diner, he felt his muscles relax. It was still raining moderately, but he'd much rather be out there than back in the diner staring into Beth's trusting blue eyes. Naïve girl.

Then, he heard the bells on the door twinkle as it opened behind him. "Daryl, wait."

He put his hand to his pocket to see if he left his wallet, but by the time he turned to see what she wanted, she was standing next to him getting rained on again.

"What?" he said, irritated that she'd chase him outdoors when she had just started being mostly dry.

"Thank you for breakfast," she said sweetly, bracing her hands on his shoulders and perching on tip toes to give him a brief peck on the cheek.

She quickly turned and retreated back into the diner, leaving him standing in the middle of the side walk with a cheek that was practically burning from her lips.

"Lunatic," he muttered. He walked down the alley between the buildings, where Merle's bike was parked out behind the diner. A gentleman would've offered her a ride home. But Daryl Dixon wasn't a gentleman, he was an asshole.

She might not see it, yet, but she would. That's just the way things were.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Soo, this chapter is a little slow. I apologize for that. I needed some minor character development, and this is setting some other things up for later. I super appreciate all of the reviews, the favorites, and the follows. You guys are spectacular. I even got a reviewer from Brazil! (I google translated your comment, too, and I really appreciate the great review!) I hope you all enjoy the rest of the story. The good news is, because I get excited and write chapters sporadically, I already have a couple more chapters all written and ready to post- they're just not next in line to be posted. So at least you won't have to wait forever, right? =)**

**Anyway, here is chapter 4. Enjoy!**

Chapter 4

The weather in Georgia was somewhat hard for Beth to get used to. It was closing in on October, and for a whole week, the sky had broken open and tried to wash them off the face of the planet. After that, though, the next few days were rain-free, and it took another couple of days for the land to dry back out. Beth had finally been able to get her car out of its predicament, sunk 4 inches deep in mud. There were dried gouges now left in her driveway, and for the few days after, she kept it parked in her front yard. It looked terrible, and she was positive it wasn't good for what little grass she had, but she couldn't afford to have the Audi get trapped again. She'd finally found a buyer for her in Atlanta.

That Saturday morning, Beth skipped out onto her porch wearing a pair of jeans, some brown boots, and a light purple sweater pulled over a tank top. Layers were the key to this weather, she had decided. She also had a light jacket and a raincoat thrown over her arm, just in case. She locked up her cabin, briefly peering through her own front window, ridiculously pleased with how well the interior was coming along.

She stopped and stared at her beautiful dark blue Audi for a minute before walking down the steps of her porch and getting in. She did love that car; it had been a dream of hers to own that car. When she got the internship at one of the largest Chicago-based ad agencies around, she had been ecstatic. Things were panning out perfectly. She'd driven the little red car her dad had given her when she first turned 16; a car which had belonged to her sister before her, and their brother before that. It had never started real well in the cold, and during the winter she had to hike through the snow to the L-train to get to work every morning. Even after she was one of only three interns that they offered full-time positions to, though, Beth had held on to that little red car, and had thrown money into an account to save up for a down-payment on the car she wanted. She bought her Audi used, since brand-new cars lose so much value right after you drive them off of the lot anyway, but it had only been a few years old, and had an older owner who hadn't driven it much. She had cried the day she brought the Audi home, just one more successful endeavor in her life that she worked hard until she achieved it.

And now, only three years later, with the car nearly paid off, she was selling it. She hadn't really wanted to, but she convinced herself that it was for the best. Despite her well-paying job, the payments were still pretty high, and driving through her new environment required a much tougher vehicle. Keeping the Audi just wasn't practical. Beth's beautiful car would have to just live a happy life with a new owner in Atlanta. This morning, that's just where she was headed.

Last Thursday when Beth had mentioned driving to Atlanta to sell her car, the girls all jumped at the chance to have a weekend away, so Lori volunteered to follow her up, and they'd all been looking forward to a day of shopping and having lunch together.

With Sasha in Lori's car, Carol had opted to ride into the city with Beth. She was always on the quiet side, so Beth didn't know too much about the older woman. She figured being in a car with her for an hour was bound to yield some results, though, so she was happy for the driving arrangements.

"What kind of music do you like?" Beth asked, being sure to stay close enough behind Lori not to lose her; Beth had never been to Atlanta before, so she was thankful to have someone to follow.

Carol shrugged and gave her a small smile. "Country and blues, I guess. Mostly older music, though."

Beth smiled, thinking back to the stuff her daddy played on his record player. "You're an Elvis kind of girl, aren't you?"

Carol's smile got a little wider and she looked down at her hands in her lap as she nodded and answered, "I am. I love Elvis."

"I've been listening to Elvis my whole life," Beth told her. "My daddy was a huge Elvis fan. He always said he got it from my mom, though. I think he loved it more because the songs reminded him of her."

"What happened to her?" Carol asked, catching onto the past tense.

"She passed away right after having me," Beth said, giving Carol a smile to reassure her that the topic wasn't bothersome.

Still, Carol said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you," Beth replied.

The silence stretched out between them, leaving Beth unsure of what else she could use to try to open Carol up with. She seemed so reserved and unsure of herself. Beth wanted her to feel comfortable enough to talk about anything she needed to. It's what friends were good for, after all.

Luckily, Carol brought up a topic or two on her own; generic questions about Beth's job and family, which Beth reciprocated interest in. Carol became slightly more animated talking about her little girl, Sophia, which Beth thought was endearing. By the time Beth pulled into the dealership behind Lori, Carol seemed much more relaxed and light-hearted.

Awhile later, after Beth signed the paperwork, got her check, and handed over her keys, she called Lori to swing by and pick her back up. As she waited for the girls to pull into the parking lot, she walked over to her car and ran her hand across the doorframe. She felt a little silly that tears were burning the backs of her eyes, but she couldn't help it. She'd had some amazing times in that darn car, and it was one of the last links left to be broken from her life back in Chicago. Letting go, even when it was the right thing to do, was always hard.

After she was retrieved from the car lot, the girls spent the afternoon going from store to store, trying things on in dressing rooms, and just having fun. At their fourth store, Beth perused the racks, intent on buying a new outfit to make herself feel better about her car. Beyond a rack of leather jackets, Beth's attention caught on Carol, who was holding up a lovely red blouse with a ruffled neckline. She was frowning as she stared at it, and Beth could tell something was amiss. She threaded her way over to the other woman, and putting her hand on her shoulder.

"That's such a beautiful blouse, Carol."

Carol smiled a little at Beth's comment, but hung it back on the rack.

Beth wasn't sure if Carol was going to say anything, but then she said quietly, "Ed never lets me wear things that flashy."

"You should try it on," Beth said gently, running her hand over the fabric. "I bet it would look great on you."

Carol finally looked Beth in the eye, and a twinkle of admiration shown on her face. "Thank you," she said. "But I shouldn't."

Beth could tell that pushing, in this instance, would do more harm than good. Carol was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of wearing the shirt; whether because she was afraid of how she'd look, or because she'd feel guilty about disobeying _Ed_, Beth wasn't sure yet. She'd resolved to work on getting Carol out of that shell, though. She knew she had the potential to be an amazing person.

"Well," Beth said, stringing her arm through Carol's, "would you be willing to help me select a new outfit, then? I feel blue about my car. I could use the pick-me-up."

Happily, Carol obliged. By the time they left, everyone but Carol had a bag in hand. Beth ended up with a cute, soft, brown leather jacket that had a faux fur-lined hood and was cut short on her torso. She grabbed a couple of soft, stretchy tank tops in a variety of colors, and a jean skirt that was high on her thighs and ragged at the edges. She also bought the red blouse with the ruffled neckline, in Carol's size. One day, she promised herself, she would get Carol to try it on. She might even get her to like it, and keep it, although she knew enough about Carol already to tell that she'd fight it. But Beth was a Greene, and her stubbornness knew no bounds.

Finally, they all agreed on a lunch spot at a cute, trendy café where they scoffed at the price of the seafood and all ended up with soups and sandwiches to ward off the October chill that was settling in. They chatted about unimportant things, and pointed out neat stuff that was adorning the walls.

Then, finally, it happened.

"So, Beth," Sasha said, "you never really told us why you moved down here. I mean, you don't have any family around here and you're still working your same job from out of Chicago. What made you decide to leave?"

He_ did_, she thought to herself.

Beth grimaced as she took a bite of soup that was too hot, trying to think of a plausible answer. She'd been trying to rehearse ideas, in case someone eventually asked, but they'd all sounded lame, even to her.

Regardless, she answered, "It was just time for a change."

"That's a pretty big change," Lori remarked, eying her. _Like husband, like wife_, Beth mused. Lori seemed to miss very little when it came to people hiding stuff.

"It is," Beth agreed. "But I was due for one. This place was the last place in the United States that was anything like Chicago, and I was ready for a pretty big change. So, I just… did it."

"Pretty brave of you, though, moving all the way down here without knowing a soul. I couldn't have done it." Carol said softly.

Beth smiled at her. "My daddy always said, '_only at the precipice do people truly change_.' And I certainly believe that. In Chicago, I had a few things about my life that I really wanted to do differently. I tried, too; I did. But I began to realize that the people I had surrounded myself with were holding me back from what I wanted out of myself, so I did the only thing left I could think to do, and I fled. In fact, I wouldn't consider it very brave at all. Just an extreme act of cowardice." Beth laughed along with Sasha and Lori. Carol smiled at them and remained silent on the matter.

The waiter came back with refills for them, and as he dropped off their checks and cleared plates out of the way, Lori folded her arms on the table in front of her and gave Beth a look that meant business. Once he was gone again, Lori asked, "So, has everything been alright for you? I mean, at the cabin. You haven't had any… _trouble_?"

Beth laughed as she thought about the fiasco she had trying to get water running back into the place when she first got there. Her toilet wouldn't work, even after service had been connected back to the place, and after she played with the knob on the pipes behind the toilet, it began spewing out and flooding her bathroom. It'd been a huge mess.

"I've had a few problems," Beth admitted. "Fixing up a cabin ended up being a lot more work than I had expected it to be, honestly. I still have a lot of work to do on it. I'll never get it all done. And when it rained, everything turned to mud. Daryl suggested I get gravel for the driveway, but I haven't even gotten a chance to look for a company around here that does that, yet. Things have been hectic at my company, too. So there's always that. But it'll work out. It always does."

Without skipping much of a beat, and for the most part ignoring the rest of Beth's explanation, Lori asked, "Beth, how often do you talk to Daryl Dixon, anyhow?"

Shrugging, Beth said, "Not often. I've only bumped into him a couple of times. I had breakfast with him at the diner once. He's not a man of very many words to begin with. Why?"

"Well, we've all been a little concerned about you, to be honest. I mean, the Dixon's trailer is only a couple of miles away from your cabin," Sasha chimed in.

Beth's eyes jumped between the three of them; Lori and Sasha looked concerned and determined, while Carol was staring into her lap and wouldn't bother to meet her eyes at all. It looked like they were trying to do some kind of an intervention. About Daryl. How weird.

"What are you getting at?" Beth asked, eager to just jump to the chase and get on with it.

"Look, Beth, you're a sweet girl. Incredibly sweet, in fact, and Daryl Dixon… Well, he's a derelict. Plain and simple. All the Dixons are. He and his brother were suspended from school more than they attended it, and his dad was known for being a really mean drunk, you get my meanin'? I think you're so good-hearted that maybe you don't see the bad in people, Beth. But believe me, there is plenty of it in Daryl Dixon." Lori sat back, letting Beth soak her warning in.

Sasha nodded at Lori's assessment and then added, "When Tyreese and I were in school, Daryl's older brother, Merle, got into it with Ty's best friend. He and T-dog were really going at each other, and then Merle lost his temper. T-dog needed 14 stitches in his face and he had three broken ribs. I was scared Merle wasn't going to stop. I thought for sure he was going to beat T-dog near to death. They're a bad bunch, Beth. Daryl and Merle were raised without morals or standards. They left town awhile back, but Lonnie Dixon passed away in his trailer a few months ago. Daryl came back into town for the funeral and just stayed at his place. Word is, Merle's doing time in jail for drugs."

Beth stared at her, unable to believe what she was hearing from them. Sure, Daryl didn't have good social skills, and he seemed to stay away from people. But he wasn't a monster. Regardless of who his brother was, Beth knew Daryl wasn't the kind of guy to beat someone near to death. They were wrong about him.

The silence became uncomfortable before Lori said, "We just want you to be careful, is all."

"Well, I don't need you to worry about me," Beth said, a little tersely. "I can't say one thing or another about Merle, their father, or any other Dixon who has been through this town; but I can say for sure that Daryl Dixon isn't a bad guy. Believe me, I may look sweet and naïve to some people," she shot Lori a look, "but I've known my fair share of men who aren't good. I know what it's like to be around a truly terrible person, and Daryl doesn't even shine a candle to that."

Everyone looked stricken at her mild outburst, unsure of how to proceed with the conversation from there. Beth could feel her eyes stinging; she always cried when she was really angry. She suddenly stood from the table and pulled her purse from the back of the chair. "I need to use the ladies' room," she said curtly, walking off before any of them said anything else or offered to follow.

After she'd returned from calming down in the bathroom, they'd all gathered their things up in silence and headed for the car. It was obvious that the day was at an end. Once they all piled into Lori's car, she turned to Beth sitting in the front. "Look, Beth, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you…"

"It's quite alright," Beth said. "I understand that you've seen things and formed your own opinions. I respect that. But I'm the kind of person who will form mine, and unless I see him hurt a person or rob a store, I'm not going to treat Daryl like the kind of person who goes around hurting people or robbing stores. That's that."

She turned to look at Sasha and Carol, as well, who both nodded their understanding. Softer, she said, "I do appreciate you all trying to look out for me, though. I would have done the same for you if the roles were reversed. No hard feelings, okay?" She smiled as Carol and Sasha smiled back at her, and the tension seemed to dissolve.

The ride back out of the city was once again filled with conversation and laughing, and Beth felt much better now that the air had been cleared. Everyone seemed more relaxed. As they pulled up to Beth's house, the crunching underneath the tires threw her off at first.

"I thought you said you hadn't had the time to look up a gravel business?" Lori questioned as she drove slowly up Beth's driveway, which had been completely lined with logs and layered in the small multi-colored rocks.

"I hadn't," she responded, staring. Then, she realized what must've happened. A smile lit up her face, and she could feel her chest tighten. For the third time today, she was dangerously close to tears.

"Then, what…" Sasha began, stopping when she looked at Beth's face.

"Daryl Dixon," Beth said, matter-of-fact. The look she sent them all was pretty smug, she knew. But at least this was somewhat proof for them to see what she saw; Daryl wasn't a bad guy.

He was the best.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I love instant gratification, and thus, I'm a sucker for reviews. Leaving me some ensures that my author speed doubles. **

**To those of you that have already reviewed, you're ahead of the curve! Also, I thank everyone who has followed or favorited myself and/or this story. You all mean a lot.**

**After the last chapter, someone mentioned being sad about not seeing any of Daryl. Believe me, I know! I promise there will be very few of those chapters, if any more at all. That one just felt necessary to set up just how reviled the Dixons were around those parts, and what kind of prejudice Beth was going to be facing down. But the good stuff is on its way, at least. So chins up for that! **

**I wrote chapter 5 for you in about two hours flat, because you're all good sports. Enjoy.**

**Chapter 5**

Daryl'd had a better hunt that morning than the last seven Saturdays combined. He'd set out some snares and traps to catch game, since his actual on-point hunting had been failing him so poorly recently. He crouched down and untangled a hare from the snare tightened around its neck. It was a pretty good sized one, and soft. The pelt would get him some money, and there was enough meat on it to make enough stew to freeze some to eat later. He added the hare to the string across his shoulder that already supported a smaller rabbit and a couple of squirrels.

He knew that he really couldn't afford the distraction, but it'd been a week since he laid the gravel down on Beth's driveway, and he hadn't seen her that day, or any day since. He thought about passing by her place, just for a peek.

They'd had to let two of the mechanics go from the shop last Monday after the dumbasses took a customer's supped-up Camero out for a joy-ride and fish-tailed the damn thing right into a light post. The shop owner, Roy, had been understandably livid. He pocketed the repair costs to keep the client from doing anything drastic, but the whole crew'd had to work extra to make up for the missing manpower. Finally, a few days ago, Roy had hired a new kid to help replace one of their lost men. The new kid was also very new to cars, too, though, and he'd needed a lot of supervision in the shop. Daryl had been in there by 5 every morning and didn't even come back home until well after dark, falling onto the couch and sleeping until it was time to do it all over again. He hadn't even gotten the chance to do his laundry, and it was lying in piles all over the floor near the kitchen.

Once the weekend hit, he knew he should have kept the workaholic momentum going by cleaning out the trailer like he'd been meaning to, or even restocking the fridge or doing his laundry. But as soon as he awoke that Saturday morning to find that it was brisk from a night of rain, he knew he'd be useless the rest of the day. The forest was calling to him. Besides, it'd have been wasteful not to check the traps that he'd set around the perimeter of his property Friday night after he got home late. So he threw on a sleeveless flannel shirt layered over a wife-beater to ward off the chill a bit, assembled his weapons, and struck out to hunt.

By the afternoon, he'd also bagged a pheasant that he'd managed to catch off guard. The air was still crisp and cool; fall was finally transitioning into winter. The critters would be out in larger numbers, accumulating all of the edible loot they could manage before the snows finally hit.

As he traveled, though, he finally made the decision to do something he hadn't done in quite awhile. He took the fork in this path that would lead him along his old route, right passed the cabin. A part of him felt like it was probably a bad idea; he'd finally been able to concentrate in the woods without thoughts of stumbling across her again. Another part of him wanted to see how all the work on her driveway from last weekend had held up after the rain that night, though. Hopefully her car was no longer getting stuck in the mud. He wouldn't know unless he passed by and took a look.

He had gone by her house the week before, slightly by accident, only to see her car parked in the front lawn. The car was somewhat safer from the perils of the rainy season by being parked there, but she wasn't doing her grass any good. She hadn't bothered to take his advice and fixed her driveway, which had annoyed him. But as he stared ahead, his thoughts returned to their conversation in the diner.

"_Well, I don't… have a boyfriend. Stupid or otherwise_," she'd told him that day. "_Are you good at fixing things_?"

Her damned blue eyes had fixated on him and stressed him out. He'd told her he wasn't good at fixing shit, and then ditched her in the middle of her breakfast, like an asshole.

The truth was, though, he was damned good at fixing things. It's not like when he was growing up, his da'd had money to hire any professionals to repair broken necessities like water pipes, damaged roofs, broken windows and the like. His da' was too fucking lazy to do it himself, and Merle was wired for destruction. He didn't have the patience to sit around and figure out how to solve a problem.

The first time their sink broke when Merle was old enough, in their da's opinion, to fix it, he'd been handed tools and a manual and told to get to it. Only, Merle had gotten frustrated when it wouldn't do exactly what he was trying to make it do, and he lost his temper. By the end of the whole ordeal, he'd yanked most of the rest of the pipes from the sink and wall, broken whatever was plastic by hitting it repeatedly with a wrench, and even managed to bend the bowl of the aluminum sink. The kitchen was still being flooded with gushing water while Merle and da' had gone at each other over it, breaking two chairs and the kitchen window, to boot, before it was finally over.

Daryl had been only 8 or 9 at the time, but after the fight, Merle had stormed out, and his da' had just gotten plastered. Daryl'd been the one to clean water and broken glass before walking to the hardware store in town. The shop owner had helped him locate the items he needed to fix everything, so he bought it all using the bit of cash he'd stolen out of his dad's stash after he'd passed out. By the end of the fourth day, they'd finally had a working sink again. From then on, the home repairs had fallen on Daryl. He was damned good at fixing just about anything.

It was that day he was standing in the yard, staring at Beth's muddy drive that he decided it wouldn't be so damn bad if he just did the gravel himself. He figured the hard part would be hauling it all in, but his truck was perfect for it. He'd spent years fixing things for his da' and Merle when they hadn't given a shit about it or thanked him in any way. Beth, he decided, would at least be deserving of the effort.

So, he'd come back on Saturday and was surprised to find her car gone. He had been glad for it, too, though. The thing he was looking forward to the least about helping her out with her driveway was going to be those big blue eyes she always unleashed on him. If she was gone while he did it, he'd get it done faster and be less bothered by the time he was finished. He'd worked most of the afternoon, first lining her driveway with hemlock railroad ties, stained and treated to protect against the elements. After that, he took about four trips, loading up the gravel and then driving it back to her place to spread along her driveway, starting near her cabin and working his way backward toward the road. By the time supper had hit, she still hadn't appeared, and he'd driven away both relieved and disappointed to have not encountered her.

But now, a week after he'd covered her driveway in gravel, he stood in front of her cabin to find it just as empty. Her car was nowhere in sight. The gravel looked to be holding up against the mud underneath, though, and he could tell by the indentions in the dirt that her car hadn't been parked in her front yard recently.

He continued on his path, leaving her property behind him. He headed up toward the river, the same route he'd taken the first day he had run across her in the woods. The red dog was still elusive to him; it might as well have been a chupacabra for as many times as he'd combed these woods without ever having laid eyes on it.

Finally, he broke through the thicket and found himself at the river. He used the trunk of an enormous tree to steady himself as he balanced on the exposed, gnarled roots that had been washed of their stabilizing dirt by the rains that had raised the river twofold. The water was higher and rushing through the bends much faster than it had been in months.

On the other side of the river, he saw movement in the brush. He kept absolutely still, since that was more imperative than his scent; he was downwind from the opposite riverbank. A buck shouldered its way through the foliage on the lower bank, stepping lightly over fallen branches and stones, trying to make its way down for a drink.

Daryl slowly eased his crossbow off of his shoulder, bracing his hip against the tree trunk for better support and balance. He knocked an arrow as gently as possible, glad that there were a few branches hanging low between him and the deer that was more focused on its quest for water. Once the bow was loaded, he hefted it up and held it steady as he lined up the shot, lining up his sight with the buck's tear ducts, and then raising his aim by centimeters. He held steady, accounting for distance and the wind coming toward him. Finally, he squeezed his finger on the trigger.

His arrow whistled as it split the air, and in the next instant, the buck's front legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, Daryl's arrow sticking out of his forehead. A clean shot.

"About damn time," Daryl muttered, glad to have his bad streak ended.

He settled his crossbow across his back and adjusted the strap to sit more comfortably on his shoulder. Then he gripped the tree trunk as he turned, keeping his footing sure and firm as he attempted to climb back to solid ground. He thought about where he was at along the river, and tried to decide where the best way would be for him to cross and collect his kill.

Just then, though, a low growl sounded from his left, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head to face the sound.

Standing not five feet away from him was a dog. It was large enough to come up to his waist; probably some sort of a Boxer mix by the look of its long, lean legs and large jowls. Its teeth were bared, muscles tensed like it was ready to spring on him. It was missing one eye and half of an ear, with scars crisscrossing what Daryl could see of his shoulders. The fucker looked mean as shit.

And it was the color of red rust.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. As though his voice had broken the trance, the dog snarled and came at him. In an instant, Daryl jerked backward, lost his footing, and tumbled off of his perch. He fell into the dark, swirling waters below.

He swirled around and lost sense of which direction was up. He was good at not panicking, though, and he damn sure wasn't planning on drowning in the same river he'd taught himself to swim in. He released a mouthful of air and felt them tickle his face as they pushed past him to get to the surface; so he was facing down. He began kicking in the direction of the bubbles, clawing at the water to get to the top. Once he broke the surface, he pulled in a huge gulp of air. The water was going too fast for him to have much control over where he went, but he kept the current at his back and began trying to move outward toward the bank. He kept searching for a root or fallen log to clasp on to that looked sturdy enough to haul himself out of the water with.

Suddenly, he noticed the water breaking before him, and a large boulder loomed up out of the water. He barely had time to pull his arm into his chest and brace himself as he hit it, his shoulder taking the full brunt of the impact.

He let loose a flurry of swearing, but kept determined to reach the shore, despite the throb that was taking over his arm. Another rock came at him, but he was able to swerve and push off of it with his feet, getting him that much closer to the bank. Then the river gave way underneath him, and his stomach dropped as he went over the sharp drop. He narrowly avoided two more boulders, but was frustrated to find himself right back in the middle of the river again.

He made his way back over, but was worried about how his right arm was tingling. He was also quickly losing strength just trying to stay above water. His crossbow was still strapped across his back, probably weighing him down, but he wasn't about to let go of it. He buoyed himself a bit when he came to a section of the river that was slightly calmer. Using each foot in turn, he kicked his boots off of his feet to make it easier to swim. Just as he finished, the river took on speed again, and his quick break was over.

Finally, Daryl spotted a tree ahead that had been uprooted and was hanging low over the river, skimming the water with its branches. He tried to keep it in sight, calculating the best spot to grab onto it, when the river suddenly dropped again, the water taking him under. His head collided with something unforgiving, and his vision exploded in a multitude of color.

Feeling merciful, the river spat him back out and he sucked in a lungful of air. When he opened his eyes again, though, his vision was blurred. He was going straight for the tree, and just as his hand missed the branch he'd been aiming for, his body slammed to a halt, straining against the strap slung across his chest. He choked on a bit of water, but managed to reach behind him and grasp one of the trees sturdy limbs, pulling himself around. His crossbow had gotten caught at the junction of the trunk and one of its massive branches. Daryl gathered up his remaining strength and used it to pull himself backward toward the tree, fighting with all of his might against the river's current.

Reaching one hand up, he managed to grasp a limb sticking out of the topside of the trunk, silently thankful that the tree hadn't been any thicker around, or he might not've had the arm length to make purchase on it. His cheek and forehead scraped against the rough bark of the tree as the water beat against his back, threatening to pull him back under. What seemed like a lifetime later, Daryl had finally succeeded in hauling his body up onto the trunk of the tree. He crawled across it on his hands and knees, too dizzy and weak to try balancing while standing.

Finally, his hand hit earth, and he clenched the dirt in his fist like a lifeline. He pulled his whole body onto the ground and sprawled out, panting. He rolled onto his back, completely indifferent to the crossbow digging into his kidneys. As he stared up into the canopy high above, he watched birds flit from branch to branch, and what few leaves remained on the trees rustled in the breeze and sent fragments of sunlight cascading down on him in a kaleidoscope of color. Then everything in his vision began to fade from the corners inward, and before long, it went completely dark.

Daryl finally roused sometime around dusk. He opened his eyes to find that his vision was still slightly blurry, and the world felt like it was tilting. He launched himself over and promptly emptied his stomach out onto the ground next to him. He was still completely soaked, which told him that he hadn't really been laying there all that long. His body seized as he was wracked with a shiver that sent his teeth knocking together; in the couple of hours he'd been out, the temperature had dropped rapidly. He sat up slowly, pausing to ride out another wave of nausea, and took in his surroundings. The river was still rushing past where he sat, and he couldn't even tell how far downriver he'd actually traveled before he'd been able to pull himself out. Thank God for not releasing his damn crossbow to the bottom of the river; it'd probably saved his life.

He stood up slowly, stiff and sore, with an arm that barely worked, but nothing actually felt broken. Pulling off his bow, he then removed his sleeveless flannel shirt to press it against the gash in his temple. He was pretty damn lucky he hadn't just bled out while he'd lain there, but it did seem to be clotting properly. All he had to worry about now was hypothermia and a concussion. Possibly a dislocated shoulder, too; it hurt like hell and hardly cooperated with getting his shirt off.

Reaching down, he grabbed his bow strap and hoisted it back over his shoulder, then began his long trek back up the river bank.

He'd gone quite a few miles more than he'd originally thought, he realized as the sun went down. It was another 45 minutes before he ran across the spot that he'd fallen. He looked across the river, but could barely make out the shape of the deer still lying prone on the opposite bank.

Finally, he veered off to connect with his trail, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of that hellhound that had made him fall in the first place. He could not believe that fucking dog had managed to sneak up on him like that. He hadn't been caught off guard that bad since he was a fucking kid who didn't know any better.

He stopped along his trail and rested his hands on his knees, trying to settle the nausea that had overtaken him again. Once it passed, he continued on. Finally, he made it to the fork in his path and didn't think too hard about the decision he made as he traveled along to the left of it.

He stepped through the trees and was ridiculously relieved to see that there was a warm, yellow glow shining out of the kitchen window in the back of Beth's cabin. She was home, at least.

Stumbling to her back door, he finally allowed himself to sink to his knees on her top step. He leaned against the railing for support, and knocked on her door.

After a few agonizing minutes, the door opened, and he blinked against the brightness of the light. Warmth from her well-heated home hit him, and he shivered again. He wasn't really sure what to tell her, and his teeth were chattering so bad that he couldn't really get words out.

She was wearing a huge sweatshirt that ended at the tops of her thighs, and her hair was slung over her shoulder in a braid. He wasn't sure how late it was, but judging by the red marks on her face, she'd been asleep.

"Oh my god, Daryl! What happened?" She crouched in front of him, letting the door hit her in the back as it tried to swing closed. He could feel her small hand gripping his shoulder as she put the other one against the hand on his head.

"Hospital…" was all he got out.

She lifted her sweatshirt and pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her tiny shorts, dialing three numbers on it.

"Shit," she mumbled, aiming the phone in different directions. "Shit!" She dialed 911 again, holding the phone to her ear, waiting. She kept one of her hands on his shoulder, stabilizing him. Finally, her face broke and she looked like she was on the verge of panicking.

"I can't get the call to connect!"

"Drive me," he gritted out. "Be faster, anyway…"

"My car," she said, beginning to tremble. "I sold it. I… I don't have a way to drive you..!"

Suddenly, the world tilted, and Daryl felt himself pitch backward. She shrieked his name, and he felt a tug on the front of his shirt. Then the world went black.

**Parting Thoughts: Not that I'm so mean that I'm trying to leave you with a cliffhanger, but... I need the rest of it to be from Beth's perspective. I write as a hobby, but I'm an artist by trade, so my timeline for getting Christmas projects finished is threateningly short. So, unfortunately, my next post might not be until after Christmas. I will absolutely try to write in the evenings after family functions and the craziness of the days ahead, but I can't promise posting until after Thursday. I will TRY, but make no promises. [Lots of positive reviews might tip the scales in your favor, though ;) ] I hope this Daryl chapter made up for the lack-of-him in chapter 4, at least. Happy holidays to anyone who is celebrating one this week! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm going to be super honest with you- a couple of my Christmas projects didn't go off as planned. It's been kind of a drag. **

**What has helped a lot were all of the reviews, follows, and favorites I received on this story over the last couple of days. Per usual, you're all awesome! Thank you so much. **

**I am extremely sleep-deprived, and throughout this whole chapter, I felt like I'd been better off writing it from Daryl's point of view, but it would have messed with the patterned p.o.v.s of my story, and I didn't want that. This is by far the longest chapter, so I hope it's to your liking. Yay for productive procrastination!**

**Anyway, much love. Merry Christmas to anyone celebrating. Reviews, reviews, and more reviews would totally make my day. Tell me what you think. Like it? Love it? Hate it? I'm down for it all.**

**Enjoy, ladies!**

**Chapter 6**

She fell again as black things rose up out of the ground to tangle around her ankles in the darkness. She hissed as she felt something, a stick probably, dig in under her knee. Again, she climbed to her feet and sprinted on.

A flashlight. That's something else she'd forgotten to stock her home with. Branches whipped her in the face as she ran blindly through the foliage with only the dim light from the moon above to help her find her way, but she didn't slow. She knew she had to be close; she'd walked that trail leading the couple of miles between her cabin and Daryl's trailer on a couple of occasions. She'd gone there on foot to thank him for his contribution to her driveway, but he hadn't been home all week.

Suddenly, she broke through a clearing, and flood lights kicked on, illuminating the entire front of the trailer, the yard, and the object she was in search of- Daryl's truck. She ran over and pulled on the handle, thankful it was unlocked. Jumping into the cab, Beth searched for a set of keys. She checked everywhere she could think of; in the visor, cup holders, the center console, and the glove compartment. None were discovered.

She hopped back out of the truck, feeling the terror claw its way up her body. She wasn't a doctor. Beth had no idea what had happened to Daryl or how bad off he was. He had still been unconscious when she got him dragged into her kitchen. He'd nearly tumbled backwards off of her steps and took them both down, but she braced her weight against his and managed to keep him from toppling over. She hadn't known what to do for him; he didn't wake up when she shook him and shouted his name. All she could think about was how blue his lips looked as she dug an electric blanket her dad had sent her out of the chest at the foot of her bed. She'd pulled his crossbow off and leaned Daryl in the corner of her kitchen where the wall protruded out to the hallway, and there she was able to wrestle him out of his soaked shirt. She'd shakily toweled him off, re-dialing 911 every few minutes hoping for a connection to hit, but it never did. The only thing she could think to do was get him into the emergency care clinic the next town over as fast as possible, and for that, she needed a vehicle. She'd left him sitting up in the corner, undecided as to whether drowning in vomit had more to do with concussions, babies, or drunks. Tucking the electric blanket around him to cover every inch of exposed skin, she plugged it in, stuffed her feet in her tennis shoes, and bolted out of the back door.

Now, here she was with his vehicle, and no way to drive it. The urge to scream was becoming more prevalent. What's worse, she didn't even think to check Daryl's pants pockets before she ran all the way over to his place; what if he had the keys on him? She felt desperate, realizing not for the first time that she was terrible under duress.

Surely, though, Daryl didn't keep his truck keys in his pocket while he was out hunting. Wouldn't that make noise and scare off animals? And even if he did have them, he had to keep a spare set somewhere. Everyone had a spare. Before she could think of what she was doing, Beth grabbed a rock near Daryl's porch, jogged up the steps, and swung it at one of his front windows. It went through, but didn't entirely shatter the window, so she looked around and grabbed a slender piece of firewood off of a pile he had stacked in the corner of the porch under a tarp. Using the wood, she scraped it back and forth along the window frame, breaking out as much of the extra shards of glass as she could. She dropped the wood and ducked in, setting one foot on a piece of furniture perched under the window on the inside. As she shifted her balance and brought her other leg through the opening, she felt a burning pain along the tender flesh on the inside of her thigh. She jerked her leg away from the protruding glass that she'd missed, but it caused her to lose her balance and she toppled off of the stand and onto the floor. She crawled to her feet and felt along the wall for a light switch, stumbling as her toes collided with various things in the dark. Her hand finally found what she sought, and she flipped the light on.

The state of the room she was in momentarily stunned her. The living room in the trailer was small; it had obviously been built for only one person to live in. But the shock was the condition of the place. An orange couch sat along the opposite wall; it was stained and burned, with tufts of cushion coming out of the seams here and there. There was a green recliner off to the side, in a similar state of abuse, and a coffee table with knife indentions in it. In the corner stood a small stand with a TV on it that was much too large for it, and looked on the verge of just toppling over. The screen of the TV itself had multiple bullet holes in it. The coffee table and couch were bare, but the floor surrounding everything was covered in layers of trash, broken objects, cigarettes, and clothing. There were probably other things down there that Beth didn't really want to consider.

The area in front of the door was cleared out, and as Beth made her way to the kitchen, she noticed that all of the counter tops were sparse and looked wiped down, even. All of the dishes sitting in the sink were rinsed and stacked neatly, and there was even a towel hanging over the handle on the stove. The floor was void of loose trash and debris, and even the small table situated in the breakfast nook had no more than three envelopes of mail piled on it.

The contrast between the two rooms was like night and day, and if she didn't know any better, she'd have thought that two very different people lived there. She felt that, of the two, Daryl would've been the cleaner one, though. He seemed too collected and rigid to adhere to a living room full of trash and chaos. She felt like he was the type of guy who had a place for all of his tools.

With the shock of the place wearing off and her panic setting back in, Beth chose to begin her search in the orderly kitchen first, pulling open every drawer to look for the junk drawer that every person inevitably had in their kitchen. She found one that fit the bill, but even as she dug everything out and spread it onto the counter, she knew she was out of luck. Nothing resembling keys of any kind were in that drawer.

She slammed the drawer closed in frustration, turning in circles to see if there was anything she missed. Then, she spotted it. Across the room on the other side of the table, tucked away in the corner of the short half-wall separating the breakfast nook from the front door, sat a little round end table. Sitting on top of it was a shallow glass bowl containing sunglasses, a wallet, and a rather extensive set of keys.

Beth ran over to grab both the keys and Daryl's wallet, since it probably contained more vital information about him than she could offer the hospital on her own. She dug a thicker key out from the rest of what was on his key ring and was relieved to see that it had Ford stamped into the plastic.

She could feel the blood making its way down her bare leg from when she snagged it on the glass while she was breaking in, so she quickly snatched the dish towel off of the handle of the oven and sprinted through Daryl's front door. It wasn't until she was back outside that she realized something foolish; his front door had been unlocked the whole time.

Unable to worry about the unnecessary destruction in her wake at the moment, Beth pulled herself into Daryl's truck and started it up. Despite its banged up appearance, it started immediately, and ran smoothly.

Finally, she'd caught a break.

She tied his dishtowel around her thigh, tightening it over the cut in her leg without looking at it, too afraid of how deep or long it was to inspect it. She didn't have time to worry about it right now.

She made it from his driveway to hers in no time flat, and was thankful it hadn't been raining that night like it had been threatening to do all day. She left the truck running in her front yard as she bounded up her steps, only to remember that her own house was still locked. She ran around to the back door and went through it, hoping beyond hope that Daryl was no worse off than she'd left him. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed since he'd knocked on her door to begin with.

As soon as she stepped foot into her kitchen, Daryl's eyelids fluttered open and he looked up at her. She was relieved when his face settled into a frown as he looked her up and down like he always did. He didn't seem too confused or lost, just in pain.

"Wha' the hell happened to you?" he said, lifting his head gingerly away from the wall, wincing at the movement.

"Come on, Daryl, let's get you out of here," she said, ignoring his question for the moment. She figured she probably looked a little worse for wear after running through the muddy woods, anyway, and considered the question rhetorical.

Beth knelt down, pulling the blanket away from Daryl's front, and reached down to slide her hand beneath the back side of his arm. His blue eyes went from fuzzy to alarmed, and he leaned away from her, pressing himself flush against the wall. "I need my shirt," he said.

"Your shirt was soaked and as cold as ice," she answered, unplugging the electric blanket. "Just like you. So I took it off. Come on, let me help you up so we can get you to a doctor."

"I need it back," he said, scowling at her.

She pulled the electric blanket off of him so that he didn't get tangled in it trying to stand back up. Having his help was the only way she was getting him down those steps and into his truck.

His hand shot out and he fisted the blanket to prevent her from removing the entire blanket.

"Don't worry, we'll bring this in the truck with us. I just need you to stand up and help me get you there first," she said reassuringly.

"I c'n walk, just gimme my shirt back," Daryl said, his tone taking on an ornery note to it. He didn't relinquish his hold on the blanket on bit.

Exasperated, Beth pulled on the blanket to try and get him to let go. "You can't have your shirt back right now, Daryl. It'll do more harm than good; I told you, the damn thing is freezin'. Now let go of the blanket so I can help you up."

Daryl's lip curled at her in agitation, and she couldn't figure out what the hell his deal was with his shirt. It was torn and bloodied on top of being soaked, and it was nothing but a simple white tank top. He was being ridiculous. He stared at her, determination turning his features into stone. As she stared back at his angry face, she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching under his skin. He was well and truly annoyed, by the look of him.

"Hey," she said, releasing the blanket and throwing both hands up. "You're the one that stumbled onto my doorstep, remember? It's not like I'm trying to force myself onto you."

His eyebrows pinched together at the inflection of her words, and she realized how her sentence had sounded. She was relieved to see that some color beginning to tint his cheeks, though. It was probably a good sign, along with the fact that his lips weren't quite so blue as before. The heating blanket had done its job. She didn't bother to correct herself, though. Even if his mind followed her words into the gutter for a minute, they both knew what she _meant_. Besides, she was pretty sure that people who blushed at nonsense weren't on death's door, and the thought made her panic subside substantially.

"Do you want my help, or not?" She asked genuinely. He was definitely not fun to deal with while he was in pain, and she figured being firm would only make him more defensive and harder to work with. He seemed to relax at her question, if only a little.

"Once I stan' up, I get tha blanket back," he said, gentling his tone to match.

"Of course. It's not like I'm going to throw you back outside and let you freeze. I just don't understand why you're so intent on having your shirt if you're still cold. You know how wet that thing is."

Ignoring her words and her assistance, Daryl braced his hands on the wall and got his feet under him. Then he stood up, slowly and a bit shaky, but still managed it by himself. He glanced at her from underneath his bangs, watching as she picked the blanket up off of the floor and handed it back to him, as promised. Grimacing at the rotation of his right shoulder, he swung the blanket up and over, leaning away from the wall enough to drape it all the way around his shoulders.

"Do you have a really embarrassing tattoo somewhere that you don't want me to see, or something?" She asked, grinning at him for the first time that evening, now that he didn't look to be in any immediate danger.

At her teasing, though, he only shot a sharp look at her, and his expression was dark.

Backing off, Beth allowed him his space to walk on his own. She locked her back door and led him to the front one, where she grabbed her keys off of the hook by the light switch. She swung the door open and held it for him to pass through. He took two steps out before he lost his balance and stumbled right into her. She threw both arms around his waist to steady him before he fell.

He looked down at her and mumbled apologetically, "Guess 'm still pretty dizzy."

Not that it was something she should have been focused on given their current situation, but Beth was startled at how tall Daryl actually was. He always seemed to walk with a gait, head tucked down and shoulder blades out in the back, much like a large jungle cat. His posture made him seem shorter, and leaner somehow; even somewhat more intimidating. But standing smack next to him as she was, Beth was surprised to find that the top of her head only reached his shoulder, even half leaned against her as he was.

"Figured you would be," she said softly, releasing him when he seemed to have his feet again.

She locked her door, smiling at him thankfully when she turned to see that he'd waited for her at the edge of the steps, instead of attempting to climb down them on his own. She snaked her arm around his waist and he slung his arm across her shoulder, still gripping the corner of the blanket, to stabilize his descent down the stairs. She felt him tremble against her as the night air hit his exposed flesh, and he leaned much more weight onto her than she thought his pride would allow. She still wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him out there in the woods, but whatever it was had left him plenty weak.

He was getting into the passenger side of his truck when it happened.

Daryl had one foot propped on the edge of the truck, his left hand gripping the handle attached to the ceiling. He seemed to gather his strength for a second, and then hoisted himself in. Beth had her hands up right behind him in case he fell backward for any reason. She wasn't sure if she could catch him, or just be there to break his fall, but she felt better doing that than nothing to help at all. Before he'd cleared the doorway, though, the blanket slipped from the hand he had gripping the handle. It swung downward, exposing Daryl's entire bare back.

It was only a split-second peek before he was all the way in the truck, and Beth had enough sense to turn away from him, acting like she was searching for her phone. Pretending she hadn't seen anything.

She was so distracted by the image burned into her brain of what she'd seen; it took her a minute to realize that she _didn't_ have her phone on her.

When she looked up at Daryl, he had the blanket around himself again, and he was focused on her face. He wasn't sure if she'd seen, but she could tell he was searching her face for confirmation.

"I can't find my phone," she explained. "I must've dropped it."

He said nothing, just continuing to stare.

Uncomfortable, and hoping he didn't read anything into her nervousness, she shut his door and went around to the driver's side.

She started the truck and drove straight through her yard, leaving tire marks in the soft surface. She focused on the road, following the twisting and turning route through the woods, heading for the main highway.

Beth couldn't shake the image of Daryl's back out of her head, though. She feared she'd never forget it. Lori's comments in the café they had lunch at in Atlanta came unbidden to her: _"…his dad was known for being a really mean drunk, you get my meanin'_?"

The welts crisscrossing Daryl's back were long-since healed, but they still looked vicious. An X marred his upper left shoulder, and two more marks ran vertically down near his spine. Another scar, broken into sections, started from his right shoulder and ran all the way across, down to his waist. A few more lines, smaller in size and lighter in color, were sprinkled across his flesh. His entire back bespoke a childhood riddled with punishment, anger, and abuse.

Beth's skin crawled at the images her mind conjured up of a little boy with shaggy brown hair and big blue eyes shielding his small body against a dark shadow wielding a belt. But even a belt, Beth thought, wouldn't have caused such severe scarring. She stopped her thoughts in their tracks as they tried to imagine what _would_ have done so much damage. She shuddered, and shook her head as though to chase away the terrible ponderings.

She was so engrossed in trying not to think about it anymore, that she flinched when Daryl leaned over to turn the heater on in his truck. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone.

"Y'look 's cold as I am," he muttered, turning the knob to full blast. "Doesn't surprise me; you're hardly wearin' any damn clothes."

Beth turned to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, and she could see the tense lines on his face from the pain he was still feeling. He looked like he'd been through the ringer tonight, but he hadn't uttered a word of complaint about his injuries; he was criticizing her evening attire, of all things. Judging by the mars on his back, though, it looked like Daryl and pain were very old friends.

She scowled, hating that her thoughts of him keep creeping back to his scarring. No wonder he hadn't wanted her to see them; fixating on what might've happened to him thirty years ago wasn't doing anyone any favors. He was so proud and strong that she knew he'd be angry if he knew she'd seen the proof that he was weak once; over-powered and beaten down. Even as a defenseless child, Daryl probably felt ashamed of what had happened to him.

Little did he know, Beth, of all people, understood how frightening it was to be struck down by someone who was supposed to love you more than anything.

The silence had stretched out between them while Beth ruminated over powerlessness and the whims of madmen. Striving for a change of topic, and mood, Beth cleared her throat. She latched onto the last thing Daryl had said, bringing her back into the present.

"It's not like I had time to pick out an outfit. The way you collapsed on my back steps, I thought a bear had gotten a hold of you or something. What happened tonight, anyway?"

Daryl snorted a bit, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. From where she sat, the temple that had been injured was facing her, and Beth could see how much blood he'd lost because it'd run down and dried against his face and neck. He looked terrible.

"I fell, alrigh'? I slipped, an' I fell into the river. And I ain't talkin' about you bein' in pajamas; I'm talkin' about you bein' in anythin' at all. Don' you have pants to wear ta bed or somethin'? It's thirty damn degrees outside, girl. Your legs look like two icicles."

"I can't wear much to bed," she confessed. "I get all tangled up in clothing while I'm sleeping. I guess I roll a lot." She smiled over at him, not missing the fact that he'd repositioned himself toward the center of the truck bench, closer to Beth, tilting his heating vent so that it struck him on his torso wherever her giant blanket wouldn't fit across him. She didn't comment on him falling into a river. Tomorrow, she suspected it would be funny. But for tonight, she left it alone.

He pointed out her driving directions to make it to the after-hours care center in the next town. He was lucid enough to know where they were at and where they were headed as he murmured instructions to her. His face was still peaked and he blinked slowly and often, like fatigue was taking him over.

Finally, they pulled into the clinic parking lot. Beth parked so that she had plenty of room to open his door and help him out if need be. "I need a shirt," he grumped.

Now that she understood his reasoning, she felt more sensitive to helping him. "You don't have anything tucked away in the truck, do you?"

"Nah," he said, not bothering to look. "If I did, it'd be dirty as hell, anyway."

Once they were inside, the receptionist got up and went into the back to find a doctor. Beth had expected to be handed a clipboard right away, but they apparently took all of the blood covering Daryl's face and neck fairly seriously. Daryl swayed as they waited, not bothering to sit down because she'd acted like she'd be right back. On instinct, Beth hooked her arm around his waist and said nothing as he leaned against her. He seemed too worn out to care whether the gesture made him look weak. He was fading, and fast.

Before another minute could pass, though, a door opened to the side of them, and the receptionist stepped back and held it open for the doctor who came through. He was darker skinned with shortly-shorn hair and thin silver glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked close to her father in age, and she felt relieved by the thought that Daryl would be in good hands.

The doctor asked Daryl to follow him, and Beth was about to let him go, but as Daryl stepped forward to follow, his arm remained draped across her shoulders, and she found herself beyond the door with him.

Rather than a series of patient rooms, the clinic had a long hallway with sinks every 5 feet, and a row of beds with curtains hung between them. The doctor seemed to notice Beth looking around in confusion, because he said, "the rooms on the other end are more for illnesses and things like that. We try to keep them separate from the injured patients. Have a seat right here, Mr…" he paused and looked at Daryl, who mumbled "Dixon," as though he was swearing under his breath.

"You may have a seat over there, miss," the doctor said to Beth, pointing at a chair near the head of the bed. A nurse followed in behind them and handed Beth a clipboard and a pen.

As the attending physician began asking Daryl questions in regards to his injuries, Beth filled out what she could of the forms. It took all of two minutes, since she didn't know of any of Daryl's allergies, medications, or other medical history.

While the doctor looked over Daryl's most pressing issue, his bloody temple, the blanket was still tightly wrapped around his shoulders. Using gauze, and astringent that burned Beth's nose, he cleaned up most of Daryl's temple. He asked simple questions, like what Daryl's favorite color was, (blue,) and what day of the week he thought it was. After the gash was cleaned, the doctor put a handful of stitches in it and warned him he'd have a bit of a scar there. Beth didn't miss Daryl's humorless smirk at the comment. What was one more scar to him?

Finally, the doctor asked him to remove the blanket so he could check out his shoulder. Daryl hesitated, glancing back at Beth.

"I can wait out there for you," she said, gesturing in the direction they'd come in from. She laid the forms on the bed right behind Daryl and walked out without meeting his eyes.

She'd flipped through four or five old magazines by the time the doctor came back out followed by Daryl. Despite the medical attention, Daryl's appearance startled her. The iodine the doctor had used over Daryl's temple was messy and protruding onto his cheek and forehead, making his face seem more pale than she'd ever seen it. He was wearing one of the paper gowns backwards, which would probably have looked comical on him under different circumstances. His arm was in a sling, she noticed, and her blanket was folded up over the other arm.

She stood when they walked over to her. The doctor handed her a bottle with some pills in it. "These are just Ibuprophen, Daryl said he didn't have any at home. He has a mild concussion from the impact with the rock. He's lucky it's not much worse. Just to be on the safe side, though, I will need someone at his house to wake him up every 3 hours for the next 12 hours, okay? He cannot sleep for more than 3 consecutive hours, or there is a risk he could slip into a coma if I'm wrong about the severity of his brain swelling. His shoulder bone was bruised pretty bad; I gave him a prescription for some better pain killers. Daryl also had mild hypothermia from being out there in the elements. He told me what you did for him with the electric blanket. It was very good thinking. His body temperature was only 95 when I took it a few minutes ago; I can't imagine what it must have been by the time he got to your place. You probably saved his life, honestly. It was good thinking." The doctor's eyes crinkled as he smiled and patted Beth briefly on the shoulder.

"Call me if you have any issues," he said, turning back to Daryl. "You'll be dizzy for awhile yet, maybe even have some sensitivity to light and sound for a day or two. I don't want you driving for three days, either. Just relax and let your body heal itself. It'll take some time."

Daryl grunted his thanks, handed the blanket to Beth, and then went to the counter to pay for the visit. Beth was glad that, amidst all of the other mistakes of the night, she'd at least thought far enough ahead to grab his wallet from his house.

Once they were back in the truck, Daryl slouched low in the seat and pulled the blanket up over himself. Beth had gotten warmed up between the truck heater and the nice inside temperature of the clinic, and now that the stress of everything was wearing down, she realized she was freezing. A tremor shook her as she threw the truck into reverse, and without saying anything, Daryl scooted closer to her and threw half of the blanket onto her lap.

She looked over at him and his lip curled in a small smile, the first genuine one she'd ever seen on the man. Then he let his eyes slide closed. He remained asleep for the rest of the ride home.

Once she pulled into her driveway and cut the engine, Daryl opened his eyes and sat up. "Thanks for takin' me in," he mumbled as he fumbled with the door handle.

"Any time," she responded. "Although, I really do hope this is the one and only time."

He chuckled a little and stumbled out of the truck, cradling her blanket in his slung arm. He walked a few steps before realizing they were back at her cabin. He turned, more alert, and asked, "Ain't you gonna drop me home?"

"No. You heard what the doctor said. Every three hours." She walked up and began unlocking her door.

"He said ta be on the safe side. I'm sure it's fine. It ain't your job to sit aroun' makin' sure I wake up."

"Then whose job is it?" She countered, walking to the edge of her porch and laying a hand on her hip.

"Mine," he said simply. "I have an alarm. I c'n get myself up every couple o' hours. I don' needta be babysat."

"Oh, good point. So you're going to call the doctor if you slip into a coma and miss your alarm?"

"I ain't goin' into a damn coma. Quit bein' dramatic. Gimme my truck keys, I'll drive myself home." He held out his hand, looking serious as all get-out, wearing nothing but muddied jeans, no shoes, and the hospital gown that was tied on backwards.

She looked at him again; really looked at him, without the worry of immediate danger to his health, and decided that she was glad for the gown. His hand was still held out palm up, waiting for his truck keys. His shoulder and bicep muscles were bulging from his irritation. And then there were his abs. Even with the gown tied as tightly as it would go, it didn't quite fit across his wide frame, and she could see his concaved belly button right above a trail of hair leading down into his low-slung jeans. Momentarily, she was transfixed, until he made his way to her steps and tilted his head at her. "Wha' the hell are you starin' at, girl?"

"You look like the Joker from Batman," she said, grinning. "When he was in that nurse's uniform, with the crazy hair and the paint all over his face." She'd die before she admitted to him what had actually caught her attention.

Daryl scowled at her, clearly not in the mood for her weirdness. "I'm not staying the night in your cabin, Beth. Give me my keys."

"Nope. Come on inside. It's nice and warm, and we can both catch some sleep before the sun comes back up."

Daryl shook his head, laying the blanket on the bottom step, and began walking off in the direction of his trailer.

Beth stood there stupidly for a moment, watching his retreating figure. Was he serious? He wasn't even wearing shoes or a jacket, and he would still rather walk all the way back to his trailer than just spend one single night in her cabin? Seeing red at how unbelievably stubborn this man was, Beth stomped down the steps and chased after him. "You hold it right there, Daryl Dixon!" she shouted, stopping in his path and turning on him.

"You crawled to my cabin half dead in the middle of the damn night, knocked on my door, nearly fell down my steps! I had to drag you inside my house, and believe me, you're not light! Then I ran through the woods in the dark in nothing but a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt to get to your truck, where I had to break into your house to find the keys! I cut my leg on glass, froze my butt off, and drove back here a hundred miles an hour worried you'd gone off and died right on my kitchen floor…! And now you think you're just gonna say 'see you later,' and head on back home to fall asleep and possibly never wake up again?! I think not!" By the end of her rant, they were chest to chest, and Daryl looked like his temper had spiked, too.

"Yeah, that's _exactly_ what I'm gonna do! I ain't gonna go home with you an' get babied an' fussed over an' shit! I've had a bad fuckin' day, an' I just wan' ta go the fuck to sleep!"

"I'm not trying to baby you! I'm trying to make sure that after you go to sleep, you actually _wake back up_!"

"Why d'you fuckin' care so much if I never wake up again, _huh_?!" he leaned down so that they were nearly nose to nose, trying to intimidate her into leaving him alone; scaring her into retreating. Showing her not to care.

Then, the memory of the scars on his back flashed through her mind, and it was as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown on her. That's exactly what this was all about. He didn't think she cared, or he didn't want her to. He must've felt like she pitied him; or was just doing the right thing because of what the doctor said.

Calmly, she relaxed her posture, giving them space between their bodies. "Because, I just do. I give a shit about you, Daryl, whether you give one for yourself or not. And if you won't stay here for your own good, then please at least do it for me."

Daryl didn't say anything, but he didn't move to walk away from her again, either. She could see him clenching his jaw, thinking, trying to make up his mind.

"Look, Daryl, I can tell that sometimes, I seem to really genuinely annoy you. If you're bothered by me approaching you when I see you in public, or sitting down to have breakfast with you, then I won't anymore. I'll never speak to you again, if that's really what you want. But I need to know you're okay first. Come back home with me, and let me make sure you wake up every three hours like the doctor said. By noon tomorrow, we can part ways for good, and I'll never bother you again. I promise." Beth stood and stared at him, and couldn't help but feel like her heart was breaking a little bit. She hardly knew the man, but she felt like she would be losing out on such an important thing in her life, and it saddened her. Regardless, she kept her ground and waited for his answer.

He rubbed his hand over his face and broke eye contact with her. Her heart sank, and she knew that she'd managed to get what she wanted for tonight. He nodded at her in agreement to her terms, and then turned and made his way back to her cabin.

They walked through the front door in silence, the air surrounding their blowout seemed stifling and awkward. She led him back to her bedroom and flipped on the lights. "You're welcome to shower off before climbing into bed. I encourage it, actually," she said, giving him a small smile. "You can leave your jeans on the floor; I'll grab them and wash them with the rest of your clothes. You can go home clean and dry tomorrow."

"I c'n sleep jus' fine on the couch," Daryl said, turning quickly away from her room like the thought of being in there creeped him out.

"Well, I don't have any spare sheets," she began, as Daryl interrupted, "I don' need any sheets."

"…and even if I did, I don't have a couch yet," she finished.

Daryl looked at her like he felt like he should keep arguing about it, but seemed too tired to actually do so.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, even if she wasn't sure if that's what his hang-up was with sleeping in her bed. "I have a really comfortable chair that I curl up to take naps in all of the time. Just go lie down before you fall down."

Daryl was looking pretty drowsy. He stumbled over to the bed and dropped his pants to the floor without bothering to see if she'd left him alone yet. He crawled under her covers and let out a soft moan as his head sank into her pillow.

"See?" she said, walking over to gather his pants off of the floor. "You feel better already, don't you?"

His breathing had evened out and she wondered if he could've possibly fallen asleep that fast. "Daryl?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"Love the way you smell," he mumbled against the pillow. He cracked one eye opened and frowned like he couldn't figure out if he'd said it out loud, but then his eye fluttered closed and his features smoothed out. He'd fallen fast asleep again.

Beth felt the hope inflate her chest at his words. Maybe she had been wrong; maybe he didn't find her as annoying as he let on. As she stood there and stared at his face, younger looking without his stern looks plastered to it, she knew that no matter what she'd promised, she couldn't stay away from Daryl Dixon for forever.

After changing into different sleep-comfy clothing, she dragged her favorite chair into the room, grabbed her phone that had been accidentally abandoned on her kitchen floor, and set her timer for 3 hour-intervals. Grabbing a book and a blanket, she settled into the corner of her room and prepared for the long night still ahead of her.


	7. Chapter 7a

**A/N: Ah, I got so many great reviews over the holiday! I'm so happy that everyone is enjoying this story! To everyone who has sent me a review in another language, I have Google translated them and appreciate your enthusiasm so much! I think it's very cool that the story is translating so well over to your language and you're enjoying it. Thank you for the encouragement =) I also appreciate everyone who has followed and favorited me and/or the story. You're all just awesome. Which is why I'm doing THIS:**

**I did try writing today. I tried it a lot, in fact, but with a house full of kiddos, there were lots of interruptions. I didn't get to sit down and really start writing until after they went to bed, which was late because of the holidays. This chapter is beginning to run a little long, (now that my confidence level is up, the rest of the chapters will probably be very large. I have a lot I want to do with the story..!) So I hope no one minds that. **

**Chapter seven is in Daryl's point of view, though, and it became much, much, much longer than I had ever intended. It's only half done, in fact, but it had begun getting so late into the evening [or, early morning, rather,] that I just can't bring myself to keep going. I feel like I'm going to end up doing a poor job on it. BUT I also didn't want to go another day and leave you with nothing. You've all been too awesome. **

**So, here I gift you with part one of chapter 7. Something is better than nothing, right? =D Part two will come to me sometime tomorrow, hopefully. And chapter 8 is already written and ready to post because I did it as an exercise before this story was ever actually fully formed in the back of my mind.. so there is that to look forward to soon, as well.**

**Anyway, enjoy, and as always, I love getting reviews. 3 I hope everyone had a fantastic week, whether you were celebrating a holiday or not! **

**Chapter 7**

He'd never given much thought to what hell was probably like. Most people seemed to adhere to the Biblical version full of fire and brimstone; he'd been told more than once that he was going to burn there for things he'd done in his life. If there was one, Merle would be there for sure, Daryl knew. He'd never really sat down and pondered the idea, though. If there was an afterlife, something Daryl wasn't so sure about to begin with, he never really wanted to consider what was probably waiting for him on the other side. He always figured his death would be just like his life; meaningless and simple. Afterward, what would happen, would happen, and no amount of thought or reflection was going to do much of a damn difference where he was concerned.

But now, as Daryl felt himself surfacing from the darkness, he felt like he had a much better idea of what hell was really like. He was so tired that if there was a word invented for how someone felt when they were more than exhausted, then it would've been used to describe him. He'd heard before that keeping people awake for hours on end was considered a form of torture, and now he could see why. He couldn't fall asleep fast enough to get a full three hours in before Beth was there, making sure he woke up again. His naps seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, and he felt like he'd gotten no rest at all. He'd had plenty of nights where he'd stayed up all through the night until the sun was high in the sky again, and he'd functioned just fine. But that was in his youth. Before he worked 17 hour days, slept restlessly in a haunted trailer, and it had definitely never been after fighting for his life in a river of raging water and a resulting concussion. His body hurt everywhere, and his temple was pounding. If there was a hell meant just for him, it would certainly be something like this: Being in a constant state of tired-but-wired, repeatedly shaken awake by a well-meaning blonde that he couldn't even throttle to make himself feel better, the pain.

Then there was the coconut that permeated everything. That was hell for a different kind of reason, but torture all the same. All around him was her scent, and it was driving him crazy.

He heard his name being softly spoken in the back of his consciousness, and he could feel warm breath playing with the hair on the crown of his head.

Daryl finally stirred, becoming mostly conscious, aware that there was much brighter light behind his eyelids than when he'd drifted off to sleep what only seemed like seconds ago. As his senses began registering, he inhaled an entire lungful of coconut and pine. Soft hands were gripping his bicep gently, and he could feel hair tickling his neck. He got his eyes to open partially, and blinked away the light streaming in between the cracks of the blinds.

The pressure on his arm disappeared, and Beth's hair brushed across his flesh as she sat back, igniting the nerve endings in its path.

"Sorry about the light," she said. Her voice sounded slightly hoarse from hours of disuse, but she seemed alert. "My room is in need of curtains."

Daryl rolled onto his back and squinted at her. "Wha' time is it?" he croaked.

"Nine in the morning," she said, smiling at him a bit. "Seven hours down, five to go."

He grunted humorlessly and sat up in her bed, eyes drawn to the glass of fresh ice water she'd set down on the nightstand. It took him all of three gulps to empty the glass, and he set it back down, quietly wishing for more.

Beth gave him a small, tired smile and took the glass with her as she exited the room. He watched her leave, noting that she'd changed into daytime clothes; specifically noticing the pair of jeans she had on that hung low on her waist and hugged her ass.

Even though she didn't look back or catch him staring, he averted his gaze and cursed himself for being a creep. He had no business checking out her figure; it was _Beth_. She was his annoying little neighbor, bubbly and mouthy and right in every way that he was wrong. Aside from that, like the asshole he was, he had taken over her bed while she had to sleep curled up in a chair like a damned cat all night. Her sheets were so unbelievably soft that they snagged on every damn cut in his skin, and he could feel the remnants of dried mud beginning to cake off of him; the clean, good-smelling bed he had fallen into last night must've been fucking filthy by now. She'd woken him up gently every three hours as promised, and every damn time, she'd had a glass of cold water sitting on the nightstand for him to drink. She'd never been frustrated with her own lack of sleep, and never even blinked an eye when the iodine leftover from his temple stitches stained one of her pillow cases. She'd just smiled sweetly at him as she put a fresh one on, asking if he was comfortable. She'd been a damned saint to him through the whole ordeal. The least he could do was not leer at her perky ass every time she left her room. And yet, every time, he had.

His shoulder was throbbing in tempo with his heartbeat, and he moved it to see how much range of motion he had with it. Pain immediately shot through his chest and across his back as every muscle even remotely connected to his shoulder protested the movement. Daryl ignored the pain and continued rotating it slowly in different directions, trying to get a feel for what was pulled, what was bruised, and where he could expect the most problems. Working at the shop was a necessity, and while he wasn't looking forward to using his damaged shoulder for an all-day shift, it had to be done. The more loosening up he could do of his muscle until tomorrow morning, the better off he'd be. He hoped.

Beth came back into the room with the glass filled back up with water. She handed it to him as she adjusted the collar of the jacket she'd thrown on. He grunted his thanks and began gulping it down.

"Your shoulder looks terrible," she observed, sitting on the corner of the bed.

"Feels terrible," he responded, holding the empty glass out to her with his good arm extended. It made him realize that she'd sat as far away from him on the bed as she could without teetering on the edge of the mattress. The space she was giving him seemed… off.

As she leaned over and took his glass, she asked, "Would you like me to get you more?"

"Nah. Don' wanna get sick from drinkin' too much water on an empty stomach."

Beth nodded her understanding, but didn't say anything else.

It was then that Daryl realized that the mood in the room was tense. For him, there was always usually tension when he was near Beth. Sometimes she annoyed him, sometimes she frustrated him; most of the time, there was something else about her that just had him all wound up and twisted into knots.

Today, though, the tension was coming from _her_. He looked her over and realized her shoulders were squared and she had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, on top of her crossed leg. Everything from the way she was sitting to the way she was looking everywhere but him told him that she was upset.

He never could read women real well, never had a girlfriend to try and figure out or anything of that sort. The first girl he'd asked out when he was 12 had just looked horrified and revolted that he'd even spoken to her. He'd learned quickly that Dixons seemed to only attract one type of woman, and they were the same kind that Merle'd be willing to lay hands on, which turned Daryl off of them. They were always the same damn lousy girl, too- loud, rude, insecure, always needing validation, needing love, resolving daddy issues with booze, drugs, and sex. Sure, they all looked different; some were blonde, others brunettes or gingers. Some short, some tall. Some had wide hips and large jugs, others were straight down from shoulders to ankles. But they all had large tempers and big mouths and sad lives. He avoided dealing with them, even as Merle threw some at him as the years went by. Merle thought it was funny and weird that he never seemed to want a woman; to Daryl, they were just nothing. He was always picky about the ones he slept with, but even after the deed was done and he'd gotten his fill, he never stuck around to see what they were like. He knew for a fact, though, that even if he had gotten a lot of experience with women like that, it still wouldn't have been any help to him now. There weren't a lot of women out there like Beth, and certainly none he'd ever have gotten with.

While he didn't get those women, though, he found that he did seem to get Beth to some extent. And if there's anything in the world he understood better than anyone, growing up as a Dixon especially, it was tension and defensiveness. And Beth was definitely exhibiting signs of both.

Despite being able to tell that she was obviously upset about something, he said nothing. He didn't know why she seemed mad, but he figured it probably had a lot to do with all of the grief he'd caused her over the last 8 or so hours. Their conversation after they got back to her cabin had turned into a fight, and Daryl could barely remember what he said to her or why. Vaguely, he recalled her deal with him: if he came inside with her and let her help him, then she'd leave him alone after that.

It seemed like a pretty win-win situation for her anyway. She had no business sniffing around him trying to be buddies; they were from two different worlds and his wasn't a world she needed to be mucking around in. It was best if she just quit grinning at him with her big white smile every time she bumped into him somewhere, and quit trying to eat meals and talk to him. She needed to quit flirting, quit needing his help, quit acting like she thought he was funny, quit staring at him with her big blue trusting eyes, and quit smelling like damned coconut. So, he let her help him like she wanted, and in return, she could go back to being some distant neighbor of his that he didn't really see around much. Maybe it'd get her off of his mind. It was something he badly wanted.

"Well," she said, breaking the silence and cutting off his ruminating, "I need to head out for an hour or so. The pharmacy didn't open until an hour ago, and I also need to… get some stuff. To fix a thing…"

He raised his eyebrow as she tripped over her last sentence. "What _thing_ are you fixin'?"

She fidgeted with his empty glass in her lap, clearly nervous. She stood then, and paced over to her old dresser, laying the glass on it before turning back to him. "Now, don't be mad, alright..?"

He could tell already that he was going to be mad. "Tha'll depend on what you did."

"Well, I just… I'm not good under stressful situations like that. Work, I can cope with. Deadlines, things like that. But medical stuff and injured people? I can't. I panic. I didn't know what to do when I opened the door and found you kneeling on my steps with blood running down your head, soaked to the bone."

Daryl thought back to the moment she'd opened the door, the light spilling out from behind her highlighted wayward strands of golden hair, bouncing off her light skin making her glow. She'd looked like a damn angel staring down at him. He'd definitely been loopy as fuck by the time he made it to her cabin.

"I ran to your trailer to get your truck, and-"

"Yeah, you said you sold yer car? When didja do that, anyway?"

"…Last Saturday," she admitted sheepishly. "The girls followed me to Atlanta to drop it off at a dealership. We shopped and ate, and by the time Lori dropped me off at home, you'd put gravel everywhere. Thank you for that, by the way. I'd walked to your place a couple of times last week, but you were never home. I didn't get a chance to thank you…"

He chucked humorlessly. "Tha' figures. I spend all damned afternoon throwin' gravel in your damn driveway, while you're off sellin' your ridiculous little car, which was the whole problem in the firs' place."

Beth turned and looked out her bedroom window, a frown on her face. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it. Funny how stuff doesn't work out sometimes, huh?"

She sighed, turning back around to lean her butt against the window sill, eyes on her shoes. "Anyway, I got to your place, but couldn't find any keys in your truck. So, I grabbed a rock and threw it through your living room window."

At that, Daryl sat up straight in bed. "You did _what_?! My fron' door was _unlocked_, girl! Wha' the hell did you do that for?!"

"I told you," she said quietly. "I just don't _think_ when I'm under that kind of stress. I didn't try the door first, I just… I just grabbed a rock and threw it. I'm sorry."

"You don't think at all, is more like it," he growled at her.

She looked at him then, and he could see that her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. Before he could think of what to say, she broke eye contact, looking around the sparse room like there was something interesting she hadn't seen in there before; avoiding him.

"Well, at any rate, I'll be back in an hour or so, like I said. You can go back to sleep if you need to." To her credit, her voice didn't shake like she was near tears, and Daryl wasn't sure what to think.

"Don' bother," he ground out. "I'll fix it myself when I get home t'day."

"I guess that makes sense," she said, smiling sadly at him in a way that hurt him a little to look at. "I would probably just make things worse."

With that last comment still impregnating the air, Beth strode through her door, leaving the glass on her dresser. He heard the jingle of keys and then her front door closing, followed by the sound of his pickup revving to life.

"Fuck," he muttered, swinging his feet off the side of the bed.

What the fuck was that all about, he wondered? Sure, she broke his window with a rock. But hell, it wasn't even his place. He was just crashing there until he figured something else out. He hated that damn trailer, and everything in it. He didn't give a shit if the window was broken or not. And the fact that she did it because she was so worried about him that she was in a blind panic, well… that made his anger even more ridiculous. She fucking runs through the cold, wet forest in the middle of the night in what could hardly be considered pajamas, breaks into his place to look for his truck keys so that she can drive him to an urgent care clinic, sits with him through that mess, and then spends the entire night waking him up to make sure he hadn't slipped into a damn coma while he sleeps in her only bed, dirties her sheets, and drinks her offered water. And then he flips his shit when she admits that she's on her way to fix the window that she broke to save his life?

He ran his hand through his hair and clenched it into a fist, tugging on the roots in frustration. What the fuck is wrong with him? He didn't even know why he was pissed at her to begin with.

As he sat on the edge of her bed and simmered, a picture on her nightstand caught his eye. He picked up the small golden frame and inspected its contents. It was a group photo, with Beth standing smack in the middle, wearing a graduation cap and gown, clasping a ribbon-wrapped diploma in one hand. The smile on her face was huge, and nearly identical to the smile of the brunette woman standing next to her. Daryl would have put her at his own age, nearly 30, but it was definitely a sister of Beth's. The other woman had green eyes where Beth's were blue, but both of their eyes were wide and happy, and framed in dark lashes. Next to Beth's sister was an Asian guy in a red sweater. On Beth's other side stood another man, around Beth's age, who looked nothing like any of the rest of them. On his other side was an older man with white hair and a face that had wrinkles from a lifetime of happy smiles. He looked proud as could be, and Daryl would have bet his whole arm that he was Beth's father.

He ran his thumb over the contours of the frame as he took in the scene, feeling out of place and intrusive. He looked up and soaked in her whole room like he hadn't done since he'd been in there. The walls were wood, like the rest of the cabin. In here, they were stained a grey walnut. She had kept the same old dresser that had been in there every time Daryl had spent time in the cabin back when it had been abandoned. The huge rug on the floor was made out of some kind of synthetic animal fur that mimicked the feel and look of a grey wild rabbit, just on a much larger scale. Her bed also had a fake fur on it, and all of the frames and knick-knacks in her room were golden and specifically hand-selected to set the tone of the room to be elegant and rustic.

Then he realized the reason for his anger.

It wasn't that she's broken the window to find his keys, or that she'd sold her car the same day he spend graveling her driveway. It was the thought of her stepping foot in his father's trailer. Beth's room was carefully planned out, decorated with intention, and it reflected her personality perfectly. Warm and soft, but compassionate, like her fake furs. Shiny, elegant, classy, wealthy, organized. Simplistic and easy to please.

And what did she see when she went into his trailer? A TV riddled with bullet holes, everything broken, and nothing of value; furniture that had been abused, laundry that had been neglected. Trash.

That's all there was to that trailer, though. That's all there ever had been to it. It was a reflection of his childhood, and by extension, himself. Broken, abused, neglected; trash. That's what she'd seen of him, and that's why he was mad. Not at her, but at himself. Mad at his da' who'd treated everything in his life like it didn't matter a damn bit. Mad at the idea of her unspoiled beauty even stepping foot in that nightmare where she didn't belong.

He had been right to try to get away from her last night. She didn't belong anywhere near him. He was the one who didn't _think_ anymore. He should've just passed by her cabin last night and took his chances driving himself to the hospital. He would have avoided this terrible feeling soaking through his chest. He was quite familiar with the emotion having grown up the way he did; it was shame.

He got up and stretched his stiff muscles, hoping tomorrow that they weren't any worse. He made his way to the small room off of the kitchen that had washer and dryer connections, finding that she had indeed bought a washer and a dryer already. He was both pleased and ashamed to find that his clothes from last night had already been washed, dried, and neatly folded on top of the dryer. As he pulled them on, he reflected that they felt soft like her sheets.

Thinking about her sheets made him feel like more of an asshole, since they were probably filthy from him. He saw his crossbow lying on her table as he passed back through her kitchen and stopped to run his hand across the top. He appreciated that she hadn't put it outside on her patio or left it lying on the floor. He could even tell that it had been wiped clean and dried, since there wasn't a speck of mud left on the damn thing from the chaos of last night. His crossbow was an expensive weapon that he took good care of, more valuable to him than his truck. The fact that she'd bothered to clean it was more proof that Beth valued things, even if she didn't altogether understand them.

Daryl went back into her bedroom where he gently folded up the faux fur at the foot of her bed before stripping it of the muddied and bloodied sheets. He threw them in the washer along with what he hoped was the right amount of detergent and fabric softener. He always washed his own clothes, but did so at the laundry mat where he threw in an unspecific amount of generic powdered detergent and popped some quarters in to get it started. He didn't waste money on things like fresh-smelling fabric softener, or waste time with things like measuring cups. But, as she had done for his bow without understanding the value of it, he attempted to reciprocate with her sheets. That and he still felt like a huge dick over how he reacted when she told him about his damn window.

As he walked back to her room, he caught a dizzy spell and had to lean against the door frame to stabilize himself as he waited for it to pass. He wasn't sure whether it was the concussion or the lack of sleep throwing his equilibrium off, but he definitely hated the feeling of not having his feet steady underneath him.

He sat down in her fluffy chair, intent to sit and relax for a few minutes before making the hike back to his cabin. As long as he stayed awake for the next 5 hours anyway, he didn't need to stay and let Beth keep an eye on him anymore. He would just rest and then go back to his own life.

Without his permission, his eyes slid closed, and darkness overtook him.


	8. Chapter 7b

**A/N: Holy hell, guys. This chapter was SUPER hard to write. I think it was because, when I first wrote out a chapter outline for how I wanted the events to fall into place, this chapter was more upbeat and flirty. But after how the events unfolded in chapter 6 and 7, of their own accord, I had to alter their moods and the occurrences a bit. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I feel like, although there hasn't been a ton of interaction, we're getting a better feel for the characters and why they do the things that they do. I personally like the way the development is panning out. I'm excited to see how you all react to later chapters. I might need to change the rating to "M" for more mature situations.. how does everyone feel about that?**

**Anyway, as always, I wanted to say thanks for all of the reviews. I have received a few more in other languages, and I google translate all of them as soon as I get them. I'm happy that everyone is liking the story so far- even if it's a little off-putting that Daryl is an ass. As I'm writing, though, I keep thinking back to season 1 and 2, when he was so rough around the edges, quick to get in people's faces and brush people off. I'm thinking about the Daryl that moved his camp away from everyone else, and threatened to cut that one kid's hand off. Daryl does a lot of great development in the show, and I wanted to convey that arc here, as well. He had a rough beginning in life, and being treated kindly is something outside of his comfort zone. So he IS an ass right now, but I want you guys to know I have my reasons, not just because I'm a terrible person and enjoy torturing you all =P**

**Without further ado, I give you chapter 7, part b. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7b**

Daryl jerked awake, nearly falling out of the chair he'd been perched in as he slept. A blanket that he hadn't put on himself fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands clutched the soft fabric arms of the dark blue chair. His breathing was heavy, remnants of his nightmare still tickling his memory, slow to recede. The details were fuzzy; he had been running with his crossbow out in front of him, looking for Beth. He'd told her to run from… something. Something had been after them. He got to a road where a backpack she'd been carrying was lying, its contents spilled across the pavement. Driving away into the darkness had been a black car with a white cross taped to the back windshield. _Gone_, was all he could think as he had started chasing the car, terror clawing through him. _She was gone and it was his fault_.

Even awake, his heart was still pounding in his throat and the adrenaline was coursing through him. He hadn't had a nightmare since the first night he slept in his da's trailer after he got back to town; the same day as the funeral. He didn't recall what he'd dreamt of then, but he was sure it hadn't been so strange.

He got up and haphazardly folded the blanket, tossing it onto her bed. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but apparently, she'd made it back to the cabin. She hadn't been lying either; that chair was damned comfortable.

Once he felt a little calmer, he left her room, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him. Her jacket and purse were slung over one of the kitchen chairs, and she was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. The room was warm and whatever she was cooking smelled amazing. He hadn't realized how unbelievably hungry he was until his stomach betrayed him and let out an enormous rumble.

She turned at the sound, finally realizing he was standing in the room.

"Woke up on your own this time I see," she said. Her small smile still didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Seems tha' way," he said simply. He felt really awkward, standing in her kitchen in his bare feet, having just come out of her bedroom. He shifted, not knowing where to look or where to stand, or if he should sit instead.

The cabin itself had always felt like a safe haven to him; he'd stayed in there every time his dad's temper got to a dangerous boiling point. Even when it was cold or dark by the time he got there, he had felt relief upon stepping through the threshold. He always bolted the door behind him, just in case his da' or Merle had followed him out there, but luckily, they never had. The cabin had been the only thing in his childhood that ever felt even remotely like a home to him. Even with no one there, no electricity, and nothing of value belonging to him, it still felt more safe and welcoming than his da's trailer had ever been.

Now, with Beth's touch on everything, it looked even more like a home than he ever imagined it could have. He could hardly remember his mother or the house that burned down with her inside of it when he was a kid, but he was pretty sure that anyone married to Lonnie Dixon probably hadn't been much of a decorator. He'd been to other kids' houses whose moms actually hung pictures of their families on the walls, and had plants near the windows and pillows on the couch. He had been jealous of the home cooked dinners and the kids who had their own rooms. Sometimes as a child, when he'd found himself alone, lying on the floor of the cabin staring up at the ceiling, he had tried to picture what it'd look like if it was decorated like a real home; but he never could quite imagine what that would look like.

As he looked around at Beth's shelves hanging on the wall with little glass knick-knacks on them, the kitchen countertop with her purple toaster, and the pink oven-mit hanging from a peg near her stove, Daryl was grateful that if anyone had to move into his cabin, that it had been her.

Without bothering to ask if he was hungry, Beth ladled soup into two bowls and walked them over to the table. He supposed it'd have been impossible for him to refuse, anyway, since his treacherous stomach had already given him away upon entering the kitchen, so he said nothing.

Standing in her cabin with the daylight streaming in through her windows, he felt like an intruder. The fragments of memories still floating around from the night before kept him very aware of how much he didn't deserve her hospitality; he wasn't even sure why she was still showing him kindness and it made him uncomfortable. Plus, the vague inclinations of the nightmare he'd had of her being taken from him caused a deep-seeded tightening in his chest every time he glanced at her. The idea of someone worse than him laying hands on her made him sick.

Per usual, she had him all twisted up into knots, and he'd rather have skipped the food, despite how good it smelled, and just driven away in his truck. Instead, he took a seat at the table across from her, and they ate together in silence. By the end of lunch, he was pretty sure that it had been the best damn soup he'd ever eaten.

After he'd eaten seconds and sponged the remaining soup out of the bowl using chunks of bread, he rinsed his dishes and set them in the other side of the sink. Beth had been quiet most of the meal, but kept watching him closely, like she was trying to figure something out. He was sure he didn't want to know what, so he didn't bring it up.

He slung his crossbow across his back and stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, and then stood awkwardly, trying to figure out how to say goodbye.

Beth's pink lips curled up in a small smile as she took in his bare feet. "Do you want to wear a pair of my socks home?"

"Nah," he said, glancing down at his feet, feeling self-conscious about whether they looked dirty. He never took her up on her offer to let him shower.

"Anyway, I better get goin'," he said. "I hafta go get some new boots an' stuff."

Beth nodded at him, walking him over to the hook by her door, where she plucked his large ring of keys off. Holding them out to him, she said, "Don't over-do it, okay?"

He took them, feeling his fingertips brush the soft palm of her hand. "I wanted to say thanks," he began. Thank you for what, though? Saving his life? Cleaning his crossbow? Washing his clothes? Putting up with him? Feeding him? So many things he couldn't begin to repay her back for. Things he didn't deserve after the way he had treated her. Shrugging awkwardly, he finished, "for, y'know… all of it."

The first genuine smile he'd seen all day flitted across her face. "You're welcome, Daryl."

He liked the way his name rolled off of her tongue. He hated that he liked it. He stood there, trying to find the words to make their goodbye sound final. To tell her, without being an asshole to her again, that this would be their very last goodbye. He wanted her to stick to her promise from last night. No more kisses on the cheek, no more breakfasts, no more teasing him about his food selections at the grocery store while she grinned at him. She needed to get over whatever it was that drew her to him time and time again, and just be strangers, like they should have been all along.

"Well, I'll see you around," she said before he could get any sentences formed that he needed to say.

He grimaced unintentionally at her words, cursing himself for not being the first one to speak. Now he had to hurt her feelings again.

She caught the look on his face and understood it immediately. He watched her expression fall, and he hated that he had to be the one to do it, but it was for her own good.

"I'm sorry. I just…" he mumbled, unsure of what to say to her that she hadn't already guessed.

"No," she said firmly, holding a hand in front of him. "I made you a promise last night in exchange for your cooperation. You held up your end of the deal, so I'll honor mine."

Daryl stood there, just staring at her. She seemed genuine, without a tear in sight. He knew it was the right thing for them; maybe she finally sensed it now, too.

"I feel like we could've been good friends," she said, smiling at him a little sadly, "but you don't feel the same way about us. That's okay. It's not something that should be forced."

"'s for the best," he replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was getting what he'd wanted, but he didn't feel relieved about it like he thought he would.

Beth shrugged one shoulder, considering his words. "Yeah. Maybe it is."

She took a bold step forward and wrapped both arms around his waist, giving him the most affectionate hug he'd ever recalled receiving. He didn't move to return it, but the air around him felt colder when she let go and stepped back from him.

Beth turned and grabbed a little white paper bag off of the stand next to the door. She handed it over to him, and he realized it was his prescription from the pharmacy.

When he reached back for his wallet, she shook her head at him. "They weren't a lot. Consider us even; the pills for your broken window."

He nodded, but knew they'd never be even for all of the shit she'd done for him. He peered down at her through the hair that had fallen in his face, staring a couple of seconds too long; memorizing her.

"Bye, Beth," he said, walking out of her cabin and out of her life.

A week and then some had gone by since Daryl's incident in the river, and the resulting stay at Beth's cabin. Like she'd promised, he had seen neither hide nor hair of her. As soon as he'd gotten back to the trailer that day, he had known what a true asshole he'd been to her. The window in the front of his cabin was indeed shattered, but when he went to clean up the little shards of glass, he noticed some that had red droplets of blood on them. Further inspecting what was still stuck in the window, he found a piece that was browned with day-old blood, where Beth had apparently cut herself trying to climb in. She'd neither mentioned it, nor showed it to the doctor, so he only hoped it hadn't been too deep.

_Look what she got for all her troubles_, he chided himself as he picked up.

The only other thing out of place in the trailer was all of the random shit strewn about on the counter top where she'd cleaned everything out of one of the drawers while she was no doubt looking for his keys. He scooped it all back in there, and then finished cleaning up the glass, using duct tape wrapped backwards around his hands. His da' had never owned a vacuum cleaner in all his life, so there wasn't one in the trailer to use.

After Daryl cleaned all remnants of Beth's visit to the trailer, he patched up the window temporarily, not looking forward to trying to buy a brand new pane of glass to install. In the back of one of the closets, he found a pair of rough-looking old boots that had probably belonged to Merle at one point. Their feet were different sizes, but only barely, so Daryl figured the boots would do until he could afford nicer ones, like the ones he kicked off in the river.

He'd fallen asleep for the rest of the day, curled on the couch in a blanket to ward off the chill seeping in through the poorly patched window. The next morning, despite doctor's orders, Daryl had gone into work, bright and early. At the beginning of the week, his shoulder had been pretty tight and sore, but as the days wore on, it began loosening up. By the weekend, it had felt much better.

He hadn't bothered to leave the trailer Saturday or Sunday, just moped around in the shed along the back side of the trailer that barely passed as a garage. It wasn't quite big enough for a car, but Merle's bike fit in there just fine, with all of the tools strewn about, so that's where Daryl kept it. If Daryl didn't take good care of Merle's bike, he was like to kick his ass as soon as he got out of the slammer, anyway. Some criminals worried about their children and their women when they got locked up; Merle worried about his bike.

Another Monday had come and gone, and Daryl found that the first whole week without Beth was the most he'd seen of her since he ran into her that day out in the woods. To be fair, he hadn't seen _her_, at all. The problem was everything that reminded him of her.

He'd had dreams with her in them on Monday night, leaving his mind reeling with thoughts of her all day on Tuesday. He worked on a car Wednesday that was the exact shade of blue as her eyes. Thursday had been ladies' day, where all women coming in for an oil change got a discount. There had been 4 or 5 leggy little blondes walking through the parking lot that day. Each time he saw a flutter of white-blond hair, his heart slammed into his throat, but it was never her. Friday, an older lady had pulled in for a tune-up. Under one arm, she'd been carrying an ugly, yappy little dog. Everything was fine until she set the thing on the counter to dig through her purse, and Daryl realized that the little dog was the exact shade of russet as the huge dog in the woods that had chased Beth, and then caused him to fall into the river. A flood of memories concerning that night washed over him, and he glared at the little dog until the old lady had gotten unnerved and chose to wait outside until they were done servicing her vehicle.

Every time he came home, he looked at the broken window and recalled the glass she'd cut herself on trying to get into his trailer to find his truck keys. Even his truck was unsettling to him, because every time he went to climb in it, he pictured her sitting in his driver's seat, miles of bare leg stretched along the bench, calf muscles bunching as she used the balls of her toes to press on the gas and the brake as she sped him to the urgent care clinic.

She had promised him that she would leave him alone for good, yet somehow, she'd managed to drive him more crazy during the whole first week she was gone than any other time in his life since he'd laid eyes on her.

Finally, it was Tuesday again, and Daryl had mostly kept his mind on his work for the whole morning. He stepped out to grab lunch at a fast food joint down the way, and brought back some burgers and fries that his boss requested he pick up for him at the end of his break.

Despite the minor distraction from time to time, work had been going really well for him. A couple of the guys had heard about him before he started working there, but hadn't exactly grown up where he did, so the Dixon stories were just rumors to them. Once he was hired on, he worked hard to prove himself and earn more money to save up, and the guys gradually relaxed around him. He wouldn't necessarily consider any of them friends, even after the three and a half months of working there with them, but they were at least cordial and obliging while he was at work. The new kid his boss, Ron, had hired was still making some mistakes here and there, but he was a quick learner and eager to please. Sometimes he annoyed Daryl with how damn helpful and polite he always was, but Daryl cut him some slack because the kid wasn't afraid to take his own blame and pull his weight.

Daryl opened the door to the empty waiting room and strode past the front desk toward to hallway where the break-room and Ron's office were located, balancing the bag of food and the drink he'd brought back for Ron.

"Daryl, hold up," he heard the new kid, Mark, shout at him from the door to the service drive as he was walking down the hallway. Whatever it was could wait until his hands weren't full, he figured.

Daryl swung Ron's door open, ready to stride in and throw the bag of food onto his desk. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but at the sight of a blonde woman sitting in the chair across from Ron's desk bent over in her chair signing some paperwork, Daryl backtracked as quickly as possible and pulled the door shut gently. Ron's door was generally closed to conserve heat, so it wasn't unusual for them to just walk in there, but it was the second time in as many weeks that one of the guys had interrupted him while he was dealing with a customer, something Ron wasn't bound to like. As a man running his own business ought to think, customers were always Ron's top priority.

As he was walking back out of the break-room, where he'd stashed Ron's lunch, Daryl saw Mark perched anxiously at the mouth of the hallway. "Sorry," he said, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I was trying to warn you there was someone in Ron's office."

"No problem," Daryl responded. "Ain't the firs' time that's happened to Ron, and I reckon it won't be the last, either."

"Didja get an eye-full of the blonde in there with him, though? That was one hot piece of ass who walked in here," one of the other guys chimed in. Ian was his name, and Daryl didn't think too highly of him. All the dude talked about was women, drinking, sex, and drunken sex. Even though Ian could probably only attract the same kind of women as Daryl and Merle, he tended to bark up the wrong trees and get himself into trouble. He was a couple of sharp crayons short of a box, and most everything that came out of his mouth was derogatory, bigotry, dirty, or egotistical. Daryl suspected that the only reason Ron had kept him around this long was because he was the only guy there that knew foreign cars inside and out.

"You think e'ry girl is a hot piece o' ass," Daryl remarked dryly.

"Well, ain't they?" Ian asked, positioning his hands like he was holding an invisible basketball, and then thrusting his hips toward them. He laughed at his own idiocy and then backed out of the door leading to the service drive. Mark, who was the kind of guy who probably carried damsels across puddles of water, wrinkled his nose in distaste at Ian's antics.

Daryl ignored Ian, but couldn't help being distracted by the blonde hair he caught a glimpse of. Being reminded of Beth over and over again on a daily basis was getting exhausting. He'd hardly even known the damn girl; he couldn't fathom why he was having troubles just letting her go and getting on with his life.

Changing the subject in an attempt to pull himself back into his work, Daryl asked, "So what's she doin' in Ron's office? Was there a screw-up with her vehicle or somethin'?"

"Naw," Mark said, leaning his elbows on the counter and staring out the front windows. They were fairly slow, even for a Tuesday, so they had been taking turns hanging out at the front desk in order to thaw out and warm up in between customers. "She came in over the weekend to look at the Jeep Ron has for sale. She liked it and I guess they talked numbers, so she came back in today to hand over a check and get the title transferred over to her. Oscar's out there right now changing the oil and all the filters on it for her, per Ron's request."

Daryl had lost interest in the conversation as soon as Mark mentioned the Jeep; as long as it wasn't a complaint over the type of job he'd done on a vehicle, then it wasn't any concern to him. He grunted to acknowledge he'd been listening to Mark, but began inputting part numbers into the system from their last inventory that still hadn't been entered.

"Can I watch how you do that?" Mark asked, coming to stand at Daryl's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, "jus' don't be breathin' down my neck or anythin'."

After another ten minutes had passed, Daryl heard the door open to Ron's office, and he ushered the customer into the waiting area.

"Don't hesitate to call up here if you need anything for that Jeep, alright? I took good care of it, but if you have any troubles or hear any weird noises, let us know. That gentleman in the glasses is Mark, and the one next to him is Daryl. Daryl looks mean, but he don't bite."

Daryl heard Mark stutter a hello to the girl, and scowled at Ron's assessment of him. He finished entering the last of the part numbers for that column and glanced up so he'd at least recognize the girl if she came back in with Jeep problems later on.

He froze in place, and it felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Staring straight back at him from across the room was Beth. She looked like a different version of herself than he'd ever seen. Any time he had been with her, she'd been messed up from the woods, falling off of grocery shelves, muddy, wet, and the like. It was the first time he'd seen her as she was now; dressed casually, but nicely, for the meeting with his boss. Her hair was loose, and fell down over her shoulders in large ringlet curls. She was wearing a brown leather jacket that ended just below her ribcage, making her torso look longer. Her shirt was plain, black, and simple, paired with nice jeans that rode low on her hips, held up by a thick leather belt that matched her jacket. Her boots were Western-style with intricate stitching, and silver on the tips. Nothing that she was wearing was revealing or particularly provocative, and yet, as he stared, he couldn't help but think she was the sexiest woman he'd seen in there so far.

He hadn't realized how much he'd craved laying eyes on her until she was standing right in front of him.

"He looks like he bites a little," she said mockingly, never taking her eyes off of him as he studied her.

Ron barked in laughter, clapping her on the back as he did so. "Damn but I like you."

Daryl couldn't move. He felt like an animal caught in a beam of light; frozen, scared, disoriented.

"I'm going to check on the Jeep for you, see how Oscar is coming along with it," Ron said, sweeping into the service drive.

Mark stuttered, either shy around pretty girls or sensing the tension in the room, as he asked, "Ma'am… would you like a… a glass of, um, water? Well, not a glass, really. A cup; a plastic one? With water?"

Beth smiled so sweetly at him that it burned Daryl's insides just watching her. "I would love a cup of water, thank you Mark."

Mark hurried off to the break room to get her some from their water cooler, leaving Daryl alone with her.

Beth's eyes were troubled when she finally looked back at Daryl. "I didn't know you worked here, Daryl; I promise I'm not in here to bug you. I've just been looking for a good vehicle to replace my car, something that won't get stuck in the mud, you know? I saw the ad for Ron's Jeep, and I figured it would be a good buy; a Jeep owned by a guy who also owned a mechanic shop probably isn't neglected."

His chest felt heavy when he realized that she was concerned he'd get mad at her again, just for accidentally showing up where he worked. He'd done a fine job of showing her what a dick he was, that was for sure.

"Don' worry 'bout it," he said softly. "I never told you where I worked, anyway."

Beth smiled at Mark as he came back and held the cup out for her at arm's length. She took it politely, thanking him, and took a long drink from it. All of the times she'd brought Daryl water when he was injured, and he couldn't even bring himself to think to offer her water from the back. Unbelievable.

"The Jeep's in good condition," Daryl told her, trying for another conversation starter. "I've worked on it myself a time or two. It'll last you a long time, if you let it."

"Thanks," she responded.

He tried not to be disappointed by her lack of participation in a conversation with him. This is, after all, what he'd wanted from her. No familiarity, no warmth, no treating him as anything special. He had wanted to be nothing to her, and now it seemed that he'd gotten exactly that.

Ron came back into the building, smiling warmly at Beth. "Alright, Ms. Greene, your new Jeep awaits. Oscar replaced all of the filters and oil, and put a new sticker on the windshield so you'll know when to come back in for a servicing. I have a call I have to take, I apologize. But it was a real pleasure doing business with you," he held out his hand, which Beth shook firmly, echoing his sentiments and promising to see him again in three months.

After Ron had retreated into his office, Beth walked over to throw her empty cup into the trash bin.

As she went for the door, she paused and told Daryl, "I've heard good things about the shop over off of Sherwin Street, so don't worry about seeing me back here again."

He could feel Mark staring at him as he watched Beth saunter off through the parking lot to get to her new Jeep. As he looked on, Ian jogged out of the service drive and across to where she stood, waiting for him after he'd called out to her.

Oscar entered the lobby from the side door then, chuckling to himself as he stood at the window, watching Beth and Ian conversing. "That fool said he was asking her out. I can't wait to see this end badly."

Ian ask _Beth_ out? She'd see right through him; she was a smart girl, smart enough to know when someone was a complete idiot. He knew Beth would never go for someone like Ian. But he also knew that Beth was too nice for her own damn good, and he wasn't so sure she'd turn Ian down.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he was shoving the door out of his way and striding across the parking lot.

As he approached them, he could see the blush in Beth's cheeks, and that she was smiling uncomfortably at Ian, trying to remain polite.

In the middle of Ian getting to the point, Daryl made it over to them and barked, "Ian!"

Ian flinched and swirled around to stare at Daryl. "I'm like, right in the middle of somethin', man,"

"Yeah, Oscar done told me what you were _in the middle of_. Yer done now. Go back inside," Daryl said firmly, pointing back at the lobby where Oscar and Mark were both pressed up against the windows, watching the scene unfold.

"Dude, be cool. What the hell is your problem?" Ian asked, ignoring Daryl's request.

He gritted his teeth and said, "We don' ask out our customers on _dates_. Tha's my _problem_."

Ian scoffed at Daryl and said, "Oscar asks women out all tha time! That ain't no rule!"

"It is now," Daryl growled.

"You can't just go around making shit up and throwing your weight around like you…" Ian shut his mouth as Daryl leaned down and got nose to nose with him. "Like I what, Ian? You got somethin' you wanna say to me?"

Ian only shook his head, the shock of Daryl's aggression clear on his face.

"As for tha rules," Daryl ground out, "I can make 'em up, and I jus' did. Go. Back. In. Side."

Ian choked out, "Yes, Mr. Dixon." Then, without bothering to spare another look at Beth, Ian turned and walked stiffly back toward the lobby, where Daryl could see Oscar bent over in tears and Mark's eyes wide behind his thick glasses.

His blood was rushing through his veins, and he knew that his fight-or-flight had been seconds from kicking in; and one thing a Dixon didn't do was flee. He turned to see Beth staring at him with a dark expression on her face.

"You don't always have to be the bully, Daryl," she said softly.

"Apparently, I did," he retorted, throwing his hand out in the direction of Ian's retreating form. "Damned fool don't listen to nobody."

"He was just asking me out, Daryl. What's the harm in that?"

"There's plenty o' harm in that," Daryl answered tersely. "Ian's an idiot."

"Well, it isn't like I would've said _yes_ to him," Beth said.

Daryl remained silent, not really wanting to admit that he feared she would have.

Despite his silence, Beth was keen to pick up on it, though, and she laughed before she said, "Wait, you thought I was going to say yes?"

"Well, how tha hell was I s'pposed to know?" Daryl shot back, raking a hand through his hair in aggravation. "You're too damn nice for your own good mosta tha time, an' it's not like I know what you like in… men. I didn' know, a'right?"

"Well, if you thought I might have liked him, then why did you yell at him until he ran away?" she asked, her Cheshire cat grin plastered to her face.

Daryl could feel his cheeks burning. "You tend ta take a likin' to everythin' an' everyone, even if they're no good for ya."

Beth lost some of her elation and asked him seriously, "Who else do you think isn't any good for me?"

Daryl stared at her, clenching his jaw, willing himself not to say it out loud.

But he didn't need to- she got it, anyway. All she said was, "Oh."

"Look, the shop offa Sherwin Street… they overcharge. We've already got all the history on tha Jeep; ain't no sense in takin' it somewhere else on account o' me." He shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to what he was trying to accomplish with her now.

"You sure?" she asked, and they both knew it was a loaded question. They weren't just talking about bringing the Jeep back in three months.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he responded. He hoped to hell that he didn't regret it.

"Thanks, Daryl," she said sincerely, smiling at him a little bit.

He grunted in response, and turned to walk back inside. As he heard her open the door, he turned back and said, "Hey." She paused, waiting for him to say what he was going to say.

"The Jeep… suits ya," he blurted out, fisting his hands nervously in his pockets.

Beth grinned and bit her bottom lip between her teeth. "See you in three months, then, _Mr. Dixon_."

She hopped in the neon green monster and drove out of the parking lot.

All he could think about was the pink lip she'd bitten between her teeth and the way _Mr. Dixon_ had sounded coming out of her mouth. He detoured away from the front of the building, deciding it would be better to take a longer walk around the back, sticking to the cold air as long as possible.

He already knew he was going to regret his decision to have her back in his life. She wasn't just a pretty face with trusting blue eyes and a weakness for broken things; she was more than that. She was honest, and pure, and good. She had hope and a spark for life that he couldn't even fathom.

She was the very thing that he feared would destroy him.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Alright, ladies. I did some revising today, because the only thing I'd written awhile back was the beginning of this chapter. But really, there needed to be more, because I'm setting some other stuff up. And also, I fear you've all gotten used to the larger chapters, and anything less will just seem like a teaser, am I right?! ;)**

**I wanted to say thank you for the reviews. I got some reviews on the last chapter that made me especially happy. I love all of you repeat reviewers, too, and I'm so glad everyone is loving the story, and simmering in the slow burn with me. It's nice, right? I've never been one to enjoy the love-at-first-sight scenarios, and I think the harder you work for it, the more rewarding it can be. Not everything, mind you, but... in this story, that's how I feel. I mean, come on... Daryl is worth every effort.**

**Anyway, thank you for all of the reviews and follows and favorites- I am happy every time I see a notification for my e-mail sending me the love. Reviews motivate me to work hard and to update faster, too, so keep that in mind ;) I have also taken into account some suggestions that people have said; like Atilia Dawn Black who mentioned wishing she had seen the reactions of Daryl's co-workers after what happened at the end of chapter 7, and I kicked myself because originally, in my outline, I'd had them really razzing on Daryl over the situation, and I just decided to leave it out. But knowing someone was missing it has given me the chance to find creative ways to write it back in there somehow, so... stay tuned for that! Tell me what you like, what you hate, and what you'd love to see more of. I'll do my best.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 8**

"Shoot," Beth muttered as she finally got her laptop to connect to the faint WiFi spewing out of the diner. She had 146 unread e-mails to go through. It was going to be an extremely long afternoon. She'd checked her inbox just last night when she pulled over in front of the diner on her way back home, to borrow Sasha and Tyreese's internet service, but there were hardly any e-mails. Some of the ones she was looking at were dating back a week, though, which meant her computer wasn't syncing with her company's server like it should have been. A lot of things had fallen through the cracks, and she was feeling the stress of her responsibilities wearing down on her. She could already see five contracts she needed to draw up for clients, and one more that needed to be revised. If it was the telecommunications company out of Connecticut again, she was going to scream. They'd already asked for 3 revisions, and she was at her limit.

Just then, her phone began to ring, jumping around inside the center console, shaking up all of her loose change to create an irritating buzz. She laid her computer aside and climbed over the back seat of her Jeep to reach up front and grab her phone. The screen informed her that the caller was none other than Lacy Shoemaker, Beth's boss.

"Good morning, Lacy," she answered politely, settling back onto her cushion situated in the back of the Jeep. The Jeep had, hysterically, become her new mobile office, complete with a comfortable beanbag and laptop cushion in the back. It had cupholders, a radio, and interior lighting, and Beth enjoyed opening the back hatch on days like this, when the weather was crisp and cool.

"Hello, Beth," Lacy responded curtly. If there was one person in the world with less of a sense of humor than her grumpy huntsman of a neighbor, it was Beth's boss. Without waiting for more pleasantries, Lacy continued.

"I am calling to ask for an update on the Tech-Co. contract. The request was sent to you four days ago and I've yet to receive a response from you. In fact, I have yet to receive a notification letting me know that you even so much as _looked_ at the e-mail. Do you know what that tells me, Beth? It tells me that you aren't taking your job seriously anymore. I thought you were a team-player. But now we have balls being dropped left and right on your court and I'm the one left cleaning up these messes, Beth. It's not my job to be dealing with these clients, it's yours."

Beth's heart-rate increased; she hated letting people down. "I know, Lacy, and I am so, so sorry about that. I got here, and my house doesn't have internet, so I've been working out of a diner for the last few weeks. It has been crazy! The e-mails aren't syncing up to the server… it's a mess. I know. I'll fix it. I'll fix all of it." She climbed up through the seats until she was back in her driver's seat, and pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder so she could use both hands to dig through the stack of paperwork on her passenger seat. "I know I have the Tech-Co. contract in here somewhere; they weren't supposed to be doing so many revisions. I don't know why they can't just agree on a price and be done with it. I will contact them as soon as…"

"No," Lacy cut through Beth's strings of words.

"No?" Beth repeated, sitting back in her seat.

"I've already taken care of Tech-Co., Beth. And Lab Inc., and Firewheel. I've already done it. Look, the bottom line is, you obviously can't do this job from where you're at. I need you back in the office first thing Monday morning. This isn't working out."

Beth couldn't believe what she was hearing. Go back to Chicago? By Monday, no less! It was already 4 o'clock Saturday afternoon. There was no way she could get her affairs in order in such a short amount of time. Surely, Lacy could understand that. Besides, she escaped Chicago because of _him_. She barely made it out. She couldn't just _go back_ and pretend like nothing happened. She couldn't just walk off of a plane and pick her life up where it left off. Chicago didn't feel like home for her anymore, anyway. Briefly, the image of her tiny, one-woman cabin flashed through her head, and she knew a decision had already been made. "Monday won't work for me, Lacy, I have a whole life set up out here, I can't just get up and…"

"Listen, Beth," Lacy interrupted again, sighing into the receiver. "I don't want to do it, but you haven't left me any choices. If you're not here by Monday, don't bother coming back in at all. You can consider it your termination."

_Termination_? All of the air left Beth's body. "Lacy, that's completely unreasonable! You can't expect me to be able to sell my house and pack my things and drive back up to Chicago and be in my office by Monday morning! There's no way! Look, I have three weeks of vacation I haven't taken yet this year, so I'll take it now, and that'll give me time to work things out. I'll make it work, Lacy. You know I always do."

"Not this time, darling," Lacy responded. "We need someone in the office. This long-distance thing doesn't work. Look, we'll have your vacation paid out onto your last check, okay? I'll mail it to you. I'm sorry about this. It's just the way it needs to be. I'm sure you'll do fine out there in Arizona. Take care."

There was a click, and then silence on the other end. Beth pulled her phone away from her ear to stare at it like it'd sprouted a head and hissed at her. _Take care_? she thought, belligerently. Four years of her life, of sacrificing all of her free hours and brilliance to that company, while Lacy took the credit for Beth's hard work, and that's what she gets? _Take care_?

Beth's blood began to boil as she stared at the phone in her hand, Lacy's number shining brightly on her call history.

"I'm in GEORGIA!" she screeched at her phone before she began to beat it against her dash. Disgusted with looking at it at all, she threw it out of the open driver's side window. Not caring that all of her windows were down and her trunk gate was open, Beth continued her assault on her steering wheel, beating it, and then grabbing it and tugging from side to side, as though she would have any chance of pulling it out of the car. She held her breath through it all, to keep the screaming at bay, until her lungs felt like they would burst. Finally, she lost her steam, slumping down into her seat and dropping her head onto her mildly abused steering wheel, where she began to bawl.

Ten minutes later, she had calmed herself down considerably. She never checked to see if anyone had seen her tantrum, but was thankful no one had been in the car with her. She had gotten over the big gasping sobs, and now her tears were slower and quieter as they traced paths down her cheeks.

Sitting up, Beth noticed movement outside her open window and glanced over to see none other than Daryl Dixon walking toward her. She was sure that she'd never get used to such a small town where she kept running into the same people over and over again, even one as mildly reclusive as Daryl.

He looked good as he sauntered over to her. His jeans were always a little worse for wear, but they suited him. He had on a long-sleeve black shirt that fitted his torso nicely, and over it he wore a black leather sleeveless vest that she hadn't seen before. His hair was always a tad on the messy side, and she could tell he didn't bother trimming it too often, but it gave him the look of someone who'd just rolled out of bed. The memory of how he'd looked asleep in _her_ bed sent butterflies flitting around in her stomach. His hair was dark enough that it made his blue eyes pop even more, and despite the fact that Beth was usually only attracted to clean-shaven men, the scruff on Daryl's face made him handsome in a non-conventional way that she was quickly becoming more accustomed to.

His steps seemed to falter and slow as he neared her and realized she was crying. Beth knew she must look like a mess, but was thankful he apparently hadn't been witness to how she'd acted not long ago. She wiped at the wetness streaming down her cheeks and tried for a polite smile. It was unusual that Daryl was the one approaching her, after all. Especially after the last few weeks, when he had basically tried his best to sabotage any friendship they'd been forming before it could lead anywhere.

He stopped outside her Jeep and looked up and down the street like he was trying to see if he'd missed something. "You a'ight?" he asked, glancing at her from under his bangs. His question was simple, but she could see him sizing her up, his blue hunter's eyes taking in her whole appearance as he chewed on his lip a bit; a habit she noticed him do when he was uncomfortable.

Beth allowed herself a deep breath and wiped the remnants of her frustration off of her face. She always felt better after a good, honest cry. "I will be," she replied, hoping she believed it.

Daryl looked away from her face and focused on a car coming down the road. He was standing outside her door in the middle of the lane, and the car slowed, waiting for him to move. He narrowed his eyes a bit, keeping his feet firmly planted where he stood; he was even prickly during his nicer moments, Beth reflected. The driver must have recognized him, too, because the car finally went around Daryl, giving him a wide berth and continued on its way without so much as a honk. Beth could feel herself smirking when he turned back to look at her. He frowned a bit at her change of expression, but only said, "I'm on my way to the diner."

"Okay," Beth said. She took that as his cue to escape a crying woman, but instead, he stayed put, staring at her. She could see his jaw clenching and unclenching, like he had something on his mind that he didn't want to say out loud. Then it dawned on her that his announcement might have been meant as an invitation for her to join him. He shifted his weight to his other leg and scowled, seeming annoyed with the whole situation, and still rather uncomfortable.

As he turned to leave, she said, "I could use some ice cream."

He paused, glancing back at her out of the corner of his eye, and simply nodded his head. As Beth climbed out of her Jeep, Daryl stooped to the ground and picked something up. She glanced at what he had found and felt embarrassment heating her face. Daryl turned her demolished phone around in his hands, noting all of the cracks in the screen and the pieces missing from the teal protective casing. He raised an eyebrow at her before handing it back, but never verbalized any comments or questions.

"Thanks," she said, feeling awkward as she dropped her broken phone into the bottom of her purse. Sometimes, Daryl's silence unnerved her, but today it felt comfortable. Had anyone else found her in that state, there would have been a barrage of questions coming her way, and she was likely to lose her shit all over again just talking about what had happened. She felt like she owed him some measure of an explanation, though, just so he didn't think she'd gone off of the deep end.

"I got fired," she blurted out as they crossed the street to the diner, shoulder to shoulder.

When they got to the door, they both reached out for the handle at the same time. Daryl's longer arm allowed him to grab the handle first, and he swung the door open and stepped back to give her space to enter in front of him. She was momentarily dazzled at his sudden display of manners, until she registered the question he'd asked her. "Wait, what?" she asked, stupidly.

"I said, you had a job?"

"Of course I had a job. What did you think I did all day?" She stared at him until he turned and walked into the diner in front of her, letting her catch the door. His temporary chivalry forgotten, she followed him in and sat across the booth from him, pulling her scarf off of her neck and settling it in the space next to her without looking away from his face.

"Dunno. Didn't seem like ya did much of anythin'," he remarked, picking up his menu and ignoring her look of offense.

She was ready to unload on him. She had worked hard for that damn company. She'd climbed up the corporate ladder using her blood, sweat, and tears. Late nights, long days, a terrible commute, and dealing with cut-throats just biting at the bit for her to lose her footing and fail so they could move in on her beautiful corner office; that's what she'd been through for that 'job.' It wasn't just a job, it had been a career. While she was going to college full-time, she'd hit the pavement with resumes, knocked on doors and pestered the upper management of ad companies throughout Chicago to get an internship somewhere. She'd landed that one, and never looked back. She graduated college on the fast-track, using college credits she'd earned in high school, and had her Bachelor's degree by the time she was 21. She had decided to take a small break before delving into her Master's degree, which the company was going to pay for.

Her whole life had been planned out, and it'd been centered on her job. And now it was all gone, over one stupid mistake that turned into a nightmare, and a cabin in the woods without decent internet service. She opened her mouth to unload on Daryl for his rudeness in assuming she was lazy, or his opinion that she hadn't worked hard for everything she had, when she caught the slight smirk still tangled in the corners of his lips as he scanned the menu.

He was fucking with her.

Suddenly, it was as if all of the air had been let out of a balloon, and her righteous indignation deflated and disappeared. Daryl Dixon had enough of a sense of humor to tease, it appeared, and she suddenly felt like even though she'd taken three steps back today, she finally got to take one step forward.

She felt her lips curling up in a smirk similar to his and she replied, "Well, maybe that's why they fired me."

His eyes flickered upward and caught hers, blue on blue, and she could have sworn she saw his lips widen a bit at her counter-offense. Finally, he was opening up.

"Fired?" Sasha was there suddenly, breaking their trance, looking flustered with her pot of coffee. "Don't tell me you got fired, Beth." Sasha was truly a sweet person at heart, but Beth couldn't help but notice that she'd turned her body so that her back was slightly to Daryl, her eyes never moving to him, effectively cold-shouldering him out of the conversation. Beth wasn't sure if Daryl had noticed, but when she glanced at him, his attention was back on his menu and his face held no more trace of its previous humor.

"Uh, yeah," Beth stammered, bringing her focus back to Sasha. "I did, actually. They decided that they didn't want to waste a perfectly good corner office, I guess. I had the choice to jump back on a plane to Chicago or find a new job, and now we know how that turned out." She chuckled at her own statement, trying to make light of the situation. She didn't want Sasha to know how much getting fired was bothering her.

Sasha would have been extremely supportive and reassuring, helping point out the good that could come out of it, and basically just throwing a 'Go Beth, Go!' rally that Beth really didn't want to attend. It would have been with the best intentions, Beth knew, but she rather liked Daryl's method avoidance; where he acted like he hadn't just seen her bawling her eyes out like a child in her Jeep after throwing her smartphone out of the window in a temper.

"Well, their loss is our gain, Bethy," Sasha said encouragingly. "I'll be right back!"

She walked off briskly, but was back before Beth or Daryl had anything to say. She laid a plate in front of Beth that sported a giant wedge of cherry pie with a huge helping of whipped cream next to it. "It's on the house, sweetie," Sasha told her as she patted her shoulder and then walked off without bothering to ask Daryl what he wanted.

He glared at Sasha's retreating back until Beth slid her extra fork across the table at him. "Help me with this, would you?"

Daryl glowered at the pie like it did something wrong to him, and remarked, "Thought ya said you wanted ice cream?"

Beth shrugged, taking a bite of the delicious dessert. "I'm a jobless, aimless miscreant now, remember? I'll take all the free food I can get." She licked a dab of whip cream that had fallen onto her other hand and then grinned at him with her cheeks still full of pie.

He snorted at her in a way that sounded like it came dangerously close to a laugh, but then his face was serious again as he put both elbows on the table and turned the fork she gave him between his fingers, staring at it with much more concentration than she thought it was due.

Beth smiled to herself; she felt like she was finally starting to be able to read him better. Daryl was quick to be hostile. He wasn't afraid to make rude remarks or pick fights with people. He definitely had a temper on him. (Not that she was one to talk, though, after her little tantrum earlier.) When Daryl had something to say that wasn't aggressive, though, he was quiet and unsure of himself. It's not like the man was slow or anything, so Beth could only assume his hesitation stemmed from being uncomfortable with actually being openly kind to someone, or vulnerable in any way. He seemed afraid to ask innocent questions if it showed he was curious about something, and he was tentative to speak his mind on matters that were worthwhile or where he could be considered helpful in some way.

She vaguely pondered how Daryl might've turned out if he'd been born to different parents; loving ones. He was intelligent and witty, she could tell that much for sure. He was kind, and thoughtful in the most unexpected ways. She could tell by the way people treated him and reacted to him that he'd been an ornery kid, maybe even worse than that. But when it came down to nature versus nurture, she felt like nature won out most of the time. Despite his upbringing, the beatings he had apparently endured, and the bad influences of his childhood, she could see that Daryl was so much more than he let on; probably even more than he knew himself to be.

She stayed silent, waiting for him to gather the courage to say what he was mulling over in his head. She didn't want to ruin their hard-earned progress by saying something and having him clam up.

As she took down the giant pie slice one bite at a time, she watched Daryl toying with his fork. She hadn't really ever looked at his hands, but now that she was, she could tell that she liked them. His fingers were long, but muscular. His wrist was thick and corded with muscle, as well. His nails were short, but not bitten. Beth hated nail-biting, and found that she was relieved that he didn't do it. Though his hands were clean, the pads of his fingers and thumbs had grease and oil stains permanently embedded in tiny cracks of his skin, and his hands were calloused from working with them all his life.

He finally clenched the fork in one hand, and she wordlessly slid the plate closer to him. He stabbed a piece off of the same end she had been eating from and stuffed it in his mouth.

Seeing that he wasn't going to say anything after all, she smiled at him and asked casually, "Delicious, isn't it?"

He shrugged as he swallowed, abandoning his fork on his folded napkin. "Don't really like cherries."

Beth laughed at his admission. "Then why did you take a bite?!"

"You made it look good," he answered. As soon as the words left his mouth, he tensed up. Beth could tell that he didn't mean them to sound the way they came out. He hadn't tried to sound flirty, but there it was. She _made it look good_. His cheeks took on some color, and he dug a ten out of his wallet, a couple of other things falling out in his haste. He stood quickly, stuffing the bill into her hand, avoiding her eyes.

"I hafta be somewhere," he said without further explanation. Then he headed for the exit without looking back.

Beth sat there with the ten dollar bill crinkled in her palm, staring into empty space. "But the pie was free…" she said quietly.

She turned to watch him cross the street again, hands in his pockets. Sasha caught her eye, looking bewildered. Beth smiled and shrugged, then turned back around to finish her pie. On the table, he'd left a couple of crumpled receipts, and one of his business cards, bent up at the corners and dirtied. It said his first and last name, with the title _Parts Department Manager_ underneath it. Centered below all of that was the phone number to the shop, and Daryl's cell phone number.

She knew he'd be embarrassed if he found out that he had managed to leave her his cell phone number, all after inviting her into the diner, accidentally flirting with her, and then paying for her dessert. She grinned, intent on using it to screw with him later. It had practically been the quickest, weirdest date she'd ever been on, after all.

_For such an avid hunter_, she mused, _he sure was flighty_.

The week had flown by, and Beth found herself at the end of her wits. She hadn't actually realized how much of her life she'd been devoting to her job until it wasn't there anymore. She knew she should keep her savings account up as large as possible, but was realistic enough to know that she would have a hard time finding another job like what she had, so her standard of living was bound to drop significantly anyway. Most companies wouldn't hire someone they hadn't met face-to-face, and it wasn't like she could Skype in the diner or waste money on plane tickets to fly around the country for interviews. On top of that, even if she found a company that wanted her, the odds of them allowing her to stay living where she was and work remotely were nearly zilch, especially without the same established work history that she'd obtained with her last job before she moved. She doubted she could find any sort of job around there that had anything to do with her college degree, and definitely nothing that would pay the large figures she had been earning at her last company.

Her options were bleak at best; hopeless at worst.

Rather than fall into a pit of self-pity and denial, though, Beth chose instead to stay busy. Without being able to expect income after next month, she decided that the best thing for her mood was to finish her cabin once and for all. She poured time, energy, and some carefully budgeted money into finishing her little home. She ordered a dark blue couch to match her comfy high-winged reading chair, found a hand-made dark cherry stained coffee table that she loved at a craft market, and finished replacing all of the rusty doorknobs with intricate, antique-looking cast iron knobs that had holes for skeleton keys and made her smile. She bought two more chairs for her kitchen table, neither of which were the same style, and spent two afternoons painting all four of them the same grey, along with the table. She updated her lighting, although wiring two of the dome lights she'd tried installing in the ceiling proved to be above her skill-level in electrical wiring.

At the beginning of the week, Beth had called and hired someone come out and install two phone-lines at her home. The main reason she decided to do it was because of the incident the night Daryl had fallen into the river. Her cell phone only worked from her cabin 15% of the time, at most, and she hadn't realized how big of a problem that was until an emergency had occurred. Now, she'd have a phone that she could use to call people on. Her sister, Maggie, would be grateful for it, because she'd always complained that she could hear the wind hitting Beth's phone whenever they tried to talk as Beth wandered around the square in town.

The second phone-line she had installed would be for a fax machine; no more running to Sasha's place every time she needed to send a document to a client. Beth wasn't sure where she would end up in the job market, but making money always involved people, and she figured she couldn't go wrong with a little extra communication at her home.

All-in-all, she kept herself busy and was happy with the decision she'd made to stay put instead of going back to Chicago.

Despite how proud she was of her progress, by Thursday Beth was happy to have an excuse to get out of the house and hang out with the girls. Lori had apologetically told Beth that they wouldn't be getting together until later because it was Halloween and she was taking her kids Trick-or-Treating, but since Beth had no cousins, nieces, or nephews, she was excited at the prospect of going with them. All of the others had jumped onboard, and even Carol had come out of her shell to ask if she and her daughter Sophia could come along and participate with the group.

Once it had finally begun to get late, Beth made herself a salad, and then started getting ready. Lori insisted Beth come dressed up, _because it'd be more fun for the kids_, she'd said. Beth suspected it was for other reasons, though, when Sasha later pried into what she was wearing and claimed that Beth's original idea to just put on a pair of demon horns and a pointed red tail wasn't good enough. "Show me you know how to look sexy," Sasha had said with a twinkle in her eye.

The fact was, Beth _didn't_ know how to look sexy. She ate healthy and went jogging, so she felt comfortable in her own skin; but she did it because it made her feel good, not because of how it made her look to other people. She liked dressing comfortably, and only picked out things to wear that she liked. Short skirts, low tops, and other skimpy items that were deemed '_sexy' _by most had always made her feel too exposed and uncomfortable. It didn't help that her daddy had always maintained high standards for his daughters, and he wouldn't have put up with her ever dressing up in sleazy nonsense.

She'd driven into the city earlier in the week to look for a costume that would fit the bill, and ended up with one that she liked, even though she wasn't too sure if it would pass Sasha's standards for sexy.

By the time she was done putting it on, she decided that it was indeed provocative in its own way. The costume she'd selected was a simple version of Catwoman. All she bought was the headband with black ears sewn onto it, a yellow belt with a long, curled black cat tail attached to the back of it, a black choke collar with small plastic spikes, and a pair of gloves that went up to her elbow, but had the fingers missing. She already owned a pair of tight-fitting black pants and black boots with thin, high heels to use for the costume. The only other thing she grabbed in town was a black tank top that was form-fitting and cut suggestively in the front to accentuate what little cleavage she possessed.

Once dressed, Beth curled her hair into loose ringlets, placing the headband on the crown of her head so that the ears were poking out from the waves of hair. Then she put on smoky black eye shadow, complete with cat-eye lines using her liquid eye-liner. Then, using a black make-up pencil, she filled in the tip of her nose and drew on whiskers. The final touch was crimson lipstick to match her bright red nails, and then she was ready to go. She didn't have a coat that really went with her outfit, though, so she just threw on a black aviator jacket with a cream fur collar, and figured it'd have to do.

At the last second, a thought occurred to her. Beth pulled out one of her smaller store bags, and put in the folded red blouse that Carol had been looking at in the store during their first girl-outing. She also threw in the devil horns and tail that she'd had already, and then grabbed her purse and left.

Upon entering Lori's house, Beth was ambushed by Sasha who squealed in delight and ran over to give her a huge hug.

"Look at you! You pulled it off!" She stepped back to admire Beth's costume in full, and Beth looked hers over in return. Sasha was dazzling in a golden flapper dress from the 20s. Her costume was complete from head to toe with a bejeweled headband sporting large feathers, long strings of pearls draped around her neck, elbow-length golden gloves, and strappy little heels. Beth felt relieved at Sasha's attire because a small part of her had been worried that she'd be the only one fully dressed up, despite what Lori had told her to do; everyone's idea of a Halloween costume varied.

Their hostess came over next, dressed like a simple cowgirl in jeans and a plaid shirt, completed by a plastic gun holster at her waist and a golden sheriff's badge pinned to her shirt. She leaned in for a hug from Beth, sporting a plastic cup full of liquid in each hand. "You look amazing!" Lori told her, handing her one of the cups.

"Thanks," Beth said, "So do you!"

Sasha shook her head disappointedly, eying Lori as she said, "Yeah, well, we agreed on _sexy_ Halloween costumes."

Beth flicked Lori's little badge pinned on her pocket before she could respond and said, "I don't know, Sash. I bet Rick likes Lori's costume plenty." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as Lori laughed.

Wandering around, Beth politely introduced herself to some of the other moms who had kids that were friends with Lori's son, Carl. She was interested to see that most of the other women hadn't dressed up. When she asked Sasha about it, the other woman only grinned and promised that Beth would find out soon enough. Beth could tell they had nefarious plans cooking.

Carol finally came through the door as the sun was setting. She, like the other moms not part of their group, was not dressed up as anything. Her daughter was wearing a princess costume that looked a little small, and had definitely seen better days. Her hair was clean and shiny, though, and had been curled and pinned up with the utmost care.

"You are the most beautiful princess I've ever seen!" Beth exclaimed as she knelt down in front of the little girl, who just looked shyly on from behind the safety of her mother. The child had the same timid demeanor as Carol, and Beth's thoughts travelled back to the last Thursday they'd gotten together, when Carol hadn't been able to make it at the last minute. Lori had been the one to utter a few key phrases on what she thought about Carol's husband, Ed, but none of the girls elaborated. Beth glanced up at Carol, who smiled kindly down at her. Behind Carol's foundation of make-up, Beth could see the healing bruise blooming around Carol's jaw-bone.

Her mind made up, Beth stood and took Carol's hand. "I'm going to borrow your mommy for a minute, alright sweetie? We're going to see if we can make her look like a princess, too."

Carol laughed nervously, and Beth led her toward Lori's hallway bathroom, with the bag containing the red blouse in hand. If they were going to have a real girl's night out tonight, Carol was damn-sure going to do it wearing something she'd thought was beautiful, Beth decided. She wouldn't be taking no for an answer, and if Carol wanted to fight her on it, she'd soon find out how stubborn Beth Greene really was.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sooo, I'm just going to throw out there that I was really, really stuck while writing this chapter. I had an idea of how I wanted it to go, but I didn't want it to be too bleak because I feel like the last few chapters have been lots of doom and gloom. I'm warning you that I have a couple of plot points planned out, but for the most part, I have no idea where I'm headed with this thing... so if there's anything you guys have really felt has been lacking from this story, or even something you've been dying to catch in other Bethyl fics that just haven't panned out to your liking, then let me know! We'll see what we can do with this story.**

**Once I worked through what I wanted to happen though, this damn chapter just poured out, and I'll admit that it's really one of my favorites so far, so I hope you guys enjoy it as well. I own NOTHING of The Walking Dead (sadly,) nor do I claim any rights to the lyrics of the song contained in this chapter. Also, I just spent like four hours writing this chapter of fan fiction, so I'm obviously not rich- good luck suing me ;) But I'm putting the disclaimer in there because I love alluding to the show that Daryl and Beth originally came from, so I did disperse some of their great lines throughout this chapter to use at my beck and call.**

**I want to thank all of my reviewers/followers/favoriters. I love, love, love what a lot of you had to say after the last chapter. It really helped me do my best on this one, so you have yourselves to thank for that. Especially the repeat reviewers I keep seeing. I love you guys. I even had an anonymous guest read all 7 chapters in like two hours today and leave a little comment on every one. I LOVE that this story turned into an addictive little page turner for so many, and I'm glad you're all sharing the ride with me.**

**Anyway, love it? Hate it? Drop me a review. I hope you guys enjoy this one.**

**Chapter 9**

There were plenty of good reasons that Daryl had put off cleaning out his da's trailer for as long as he had. For one, the place was riddled with terrible memories of a rotten childhood. Everywhere he looked, there was the echo of a skeleton just begging to be let out of the closet. Another reason was that the place was just plain dirty. If his da had ever vacuumed the carpet or mopped the kitchen floor just once in the entire 22 years the man had lived there, Daryl would've been shocked. He'd wondered more than once if he should've looked into a hazmat suit, or at least a really large supply of gloves and masks, before beginning the massive undertaking.

One of the other reasons not to clean the trailer was one that Daryl hadn't really counted on, but should have. As it turned out, he was woefully unprepared the repressed memories that the contents of the trailer might, and did, dredge up.

Daryl had pulled out all of the clothes hanging in his da's bedroom closet, which wasn't many, and began stuffing everything that could be given away to a thrift store into boxes. There had been a giant hole on the inside of the closet that Daryl hadn't paid any attention at first. After all, his da's trailer had plenty of holes sprinkling the walls, put there by fists, boots, lamps, chairs- you name it, and the Dixons had used it as a weapon. One hole in a closet wasn't much concern to Daryl, until he realized that there was a shirt sleeve sticking out of it; a woman's shirt sleeve.

Slightly worried his da' had murdered a date-gone-bad and stuffed her in the walls, Daryl ran to grab a flashlight to investigate. Upon leaning into the hole, though, he was surprised to find that the shirt was sticking out of a box labeled "Tabbie." For a moment, Daryl was struck dumb. He didn't put two-and-two together right away because the thought of his da having any sentiment at all was beyond him; but then he read the name again, and the light bulb registered in his head. His mother's name had been Tabitha.

He pulled the box out of the hole carefully, although it was a bomb ready to go off rather than just an assortment of his mother's things. He carried it into the living room, where he sat it down on one end of the couch. He stared at it, debating, willing himself to be brave and just open the damned thing. But for the life of him, Daryl couldn't imagine what could possibly be in that box.

His mother had gotten drunk and fallen asleep with a cigarette in her mouth when he was 6. He'd been off playing with the neighborhood kids when they heard sirens, and then fire trucks went screaming passed them. He didn't have a bike, so when all of the other kids rode off to go see what was going on, he fell behind a ways. By the time he turned onto the street, he'd realized it was _his_ house up in flames. He'd never forget the look on everyone's faces as they stared at him in shock. The whispers had followed him through the halls of school for months; _there went that Dixon boy whose mom burned herself to death in their house_.

Daryl had always assumed that everything she'd owned had gone up in flames with her and the rest of their possessions; he'd certainly never seen even a picture of her in his da's trailer for the rest of the years he'd lived there. Daryl wasn't even entirely sure if the vision he had of his mom in his head was actually what she'd looked like, or if he'd made her up as the years went on.

He paced around awhile, glancing at the box every so often to make sure it was actually still there, and he hadn't hallucinated finding it. He couldn't think of why his dad had bothered holding onto it all those years, or why it was tucked away in a hole in the back of his closet. The handwriting on the box wasn't even his da's; it was bubbly and feminine. _Had his mom written it before she died_? But no, that wouldn't make sense. She wouldn't have labeled her own box 'Tabbie.' He wondered if it had been a pet name that his da' had called her; but he'd never heard his da' ever say her name. He'd only ever called her "_that mother of yours_," or something equivalent.

Finally, unable to muster up the bravado to open the box on his own, Daryl stalked into the kitchen and pulled out a clear jar of liquid courage. The cupboards were still pretty stocked full of the moonshine that his dad had been hoarding from the distiller he'd built himself in the shed out back. He downed half a jar before grabbing a second and third one and heading over to the couch, where he dropped himself down onto the cushion next to the box.

Reaching over, he gently tore the remainder of the duct tape off, completely freeing the cardboard flaps. He took a deep breath and opened the box.

The first thing to hit him was the smell; _her_ smell. He was suddenly 5 again, running through the kitchen after Merle. His mother had been at the table with curlers in her hair and a cigarette between her fingers. "You boys better not get mud all over my nice clean floors, y'hear me?"

He pulled out the shirt that had been the catalyst for finding the box to begin with, and her perfume faintly wafted through the air. He set it aside and reached in for more. His fingers found a smaller box inside, the type that children's shoes had come in. He pulled it out, wiping the dust off the top of the lid. When he opened it, a white envelope stared up at him with the name "Lonnie" written on it in the same feminine handwriting.

With shaking hands, Daryl pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

_Lonnie,_

_In this box, you'll find everything I have left of Tabbie. This box is not meant for you, as I'm sure none of it will mean anything to you. It is for the boys, because while we could never figure out what Tabbie saw in you, those boys are still a part of her, and part of us. They should have their mom's things to help them remember her and cherish her, as I do. _

_My sister was not without her faults or her mistakes and she never took life serious enough; but marrying you was the beginning of the end for her, and I pray that you don't poison my nephews the way you poisoned my sister. My offer after the funeral still stands; it would take only one phone call to have me take them off of your hands. Until that day, I hope this box can shed some light onto the amazing woman their mom was, before her ruin._

_Sincerely,_

_Darlene _

Daryl read and re-read the letter multiple times, his chest tightening painfully as the words began to blur on the page.

Against his aunt's wishes, his dad had never shown the box to Daryl, and he doubted Merle had laid eyes on it, either. It was a miracle his da' had even kept the box all those years; he was surprised his aunt had entrusted it to his dad to begin with. He didn't remember his aunt Darlene; he just knew she'd passed away about a year or two after his mom. The letter with her death announcement had come in the mail addressed to Daryl and Merle, not Lonnie.

He laid the letter aside and realized that the box was full of random shit; Christmas ornaments with handprints and his mom's name, a couple of drawings, some concert tickets and movie ticket stubs, a keychain, two necklaces and a couple of rings. None of the jewelry was probably real; if they'd been worth anything, Daryl knew his da' would've hocked it long ago. Scattered at the bottom of the box were a handful of pictures, mostly Polaroid's, all sepia-toned and blurry.

He looked through them anyway, absorbing the features of the young, laughing woman in the photos. He at least had confirmation that the memories of what his mother looked like had been skewed. Either that, or she'd looked a lot different by the time he was old enough to retain memories of her. There were pictures of her in her teens, holding up a small fish on a line, grinning from ear to ear, her dark brown curly hair tangled in the wind. There were a couple of her blowing out various birthday candles, another of her in shorts near a pond, holding a little dog. She had a brilliant smile in every photo, and he could even see that she's where he and Merle had gotten their light blue eyes; despite how time had aged the photos, her blue eyes remained vivid as they stared up at him from the pictures. He'd always imagined her with brown eyes, for some reason.

In the last few photos, she was heavier, and her face was drawn. The last picture in the stack was of her holding a toddler on one hip with a cigarette in her other hand, belly swollen with her second child. Little Merle was wailing, wearing a pointy birthday hat, hands outstretched for the cake in the foreground; and Daryl could see his father in the background, lounging on that damned green recliner, watching the T.V. with a drink in one hand.

The rest of the contents in the large box were just odds and ends that had apparently meant something to his mom, but he'd never know what. There were a couple of books, more articles of clothing, and a vinyl record of a female artist he'd never heard of.

He walked over and tucked the smaller shoe box into his duffel bag among his own effects, and then dumped the rest of his mom's possessions in the box with his da's things. The pictures were special to him, but the significance of everything else was lost on him.

Daryl downed the third jar of moonshine as he turned in circles, taking in the entire living room. All he could concentrate on were the pictures of his mom and how vastly different she'd looked in only a matter of years. It was possible that she'd just been having a bad day in the last photo; he imagined Merle wasn't easy to deal with even as a baby. But it was more likely that her problem was becoming a Dixon. His da' had been damned good at sucking the fun and happiness out of anything, and it appeared that the same could have been said for Daryl's own mother.

His dad wasn't around anymore, so Daryl would never get off just one punch to the face of that man. Merle and da' had gotten into fist fights plenty of times, but Daryl had always been too much of a coward to retaliate against their dad the way Merle had. For a long while, Merle had been the only thing standing between Daryl and their dad's raging temper, but after Merle took his shit and split, there had been no one left to take the fall for things except Daryl.

None of the beatings Lonnie Dixon had dealt out really quite compared to hiding that box of belongings away from his only sons, though, and the audacity of it pissed Daryl off. Without his da's face around, Daryl took to his things instead, grabbing a baseball bat out from behind his dad's bedroom door and turning on the furniture.

Daryl's phone began to ring, and he snapped out of his rage long enough to register the sound. He trudged through the piles of stuffing, broken wood, and shattered glass to get to the kitchen, where he plucked his phone off of the table.

He answered it without checking the caller ID.

"Hey, man, what're you doing tonight?" Oscar's voice asked from the other end of the phone.

Daryl's chest was still heaving as he raked his eyes across the demolition of his da's trailer. Nothing had survived. "Not much," he said simply. "Housework."

"Housework?!" He could hear Oscar laugh with a couple of other guys in the background. "Man, fuck that shit. Come out with us tonight, Holmes. It's Halloween. We're hittin' up bars and checkin' out all the slutty costumes."

There was a first time for everything, and this one hadn't come a moment too soon. It was a good a night as any to get the hell out of the trailer before he lost his mind to it. "Yeah, man. Where am I meetin' you?"

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Oscar shouted into the phone. "Just meet us at my old lady's place. We're havin' a pre-party."

"See you there," Daryl said, hanging up the phone.

He looked over at the wake of destruction, sneering at it aggressively. "Good thing you never gave a shit 'bout nothin', pop."

He threw on his jacket, grabbed his wallet and his keys, and headed out into the crisp night air.

The guys from the shop had invited him out with them on plenty of occasions. Daryl had always given them some excuse or another as to why he couldn't be bothered to join them, but most of the time it was just because he never really wanted to. They seemed like alright guys, but he'd had his fill of derelict jackasses while following Merle around the state. With Merle in the pen and his pals off of Daryl's radar, he rather enjoyed his solitude. He liked the silence, and being alone with his thoughts. It was relaxing to just be in the garage for a few hours, tinkering with Merle's bike, not being shouted at or complained to about dinner or the dwindling supply of booze.

Going out with large groups always wore Daryl out, and he felt like it took him days to recharge after the drain on his energy. His teachers always accused him of being antisocial, or introverted, whatever the hell that meant. Part of it could have been blamed on the way he was raised; their dad sure as shit never taught them how to properly socialize with other people. But it couldn't all be blamed on his da' because even Merle, as despised as he often was, didn't have the same enormous problem as Daryl when it came to hanging out with groups of guys or even conversing with women. Sure, Merle said some awful shit and ran his mouth until he pissed people off, so he was never real popular with people, but he never let up talking and hanging out, and he never seemed to enjoy the solitude that being alone provided. So it was definitely something in the way Daryl was wired. His dad had always commented on how he was _weird_.

Tonight, though, was an exception to his recluse clause. He had to get away from that damned trailer and all of its nightmares; away from his dead mother's things, and the undeniable proof that the Dixon men ruined everything they laid their hands on.

Once Daryl got to Oscar's house, he drank until he was dizzy. Then they all stumbled out of the front door and piled into Oscar's truck, with scrawny, sober Mark climbing into the driver's seat.

"Don't you let these boys drive home, blue eyes, you hear me?" Oscar's woman said as she followed them out of the house. "Do _you_ hear me?" she asked, turning her gaze onto Oscar. "If I find out you were driving or looking at other women, I'll kill you, understand _mi chanchito_?"

"_Si, mamacita_. Cross my heart," he replied affectionately.

After Mark had pulled out of the driveway, the guys began ragging on Oscar about how his woman had him whipped. He animatedly denied such claims, offering to show them who wore the pants at his house. The razzing continued most of the ride, and Daryl smiled contentedly as the wind from the open windows blew through his hair.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the first bar, they realized that this had been everyone else's bright idea of Halloween night, as well. The place was standing room only, so after only one beer each, they closed out their tabs and left, choosing to walk the two blocks to the next drinking establishment. This one was just as packed, they noticed, but because it was a bar that also supplied karaoke, it had a lot more broads to look at, so they stuck around. After only a few minutes, a table of people began dispersing, and Oscar and Ian rushed forward to secure it.

Daryl pulled himself up into one of the tall chairs right next to Ian, who looked uncomfortable by being in such a close proximity to Daryl. Ever since the afternoon tiff over Beth, Ian had kept his distance, but Daryl was so used to people avoiding him that he hardly noticed the difference or cared. A couple of the other mechanics from the shop showed up a few minutes later, throwing around high-fives and customary greetings. Most of them were a few years younger than Daryl or Oscar, and they all showed up wearing costumes that they thought were funny, witty, or enticing in some way. Daryl just thought they looked like idiots.

Just then, the song they'd come in on died out, followed by clapping and cheering. The place was rowdy and loud, but comfortably so. He wasn't expected to help fill awkward silences, and that made him content.

The next song was introduced, and when it filled the establishment, there was more clapping and cheering. It sounded more country than the last one had, and when the lyrics started up, he recognized it off of the radio they had at work.

_Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blonde tramp,_

_And she's probably gettin' frisky…_

_Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink,_

_'Cause she can't shoot whiskey…_

_Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick,_

_Showing her how to shoot a combo…_

He sat quietly, listening to the partially-shouted conversation of his table mates, content to just people-watch and relax. He'd had so many beers that he was comfortably floating in the moment and numb to the past or present, which had pretty much been the whole point of the evening. Normally, his dead body couldn't even have been dragged into a karaoke bar on such a busy night, but he found that the girl singing that particular song had some pipes on her, and it sounded nearly identical to the original song that came on the radio.

_And he don't know…_

Here, the beat took on a bit of a lull, then built up until it blasted into the chorus. The girl on stage was right there with the song, and as she belted out the chorus with all of her heart, the drunken patrons of the bar erupted into cheering and shouting.

_That I dug my key into the side_

_Of his pretty little souped up 4-wheel-drive,_

_Carved my name into his leather seats…_

Daryl's table, to his dismay, was no exception. He picked at the label on his beer bottle, content to ignore their exuberance, until Oscar got _really_ wound up…

He slapped Daryl on the back of the shoulder, jostling his drink, as he shouted, "It's Jeep girl, man!"

"What?" he shouted back.

At the top of his lungs, Oscar grabbed Daryl and shook him, screaming "JEEP GIRL!" He then leapt onto one of the chairs, hooting and hollering about Jeeps toward the stage.

Then, Daryl's drink-addled brain caught up with Oscar's findings, and he realized who Jeep girl was. Before he could react more smoothly, he too leapt up to see over heads crowding the stage.

Sure as fucking shit, there was a girl with golden blonde hair curled into loose ringlets, dressed in all black except for a yellow belt and some cat ears. Even from across the bar with a black nose and whiskers painted on her face, Daryl could tell that it was none other than Beth Greene.

And damn if she didn't look like she was having the time of her life up there. The louder the crowd got, the louder _she_ got, leaning all the way back as she sang her pretty little heart out into the microphone, seemingly energized by the noise of the audience.

_I DUG MY KEY INTO THE SIDE _

_OF HIS PRETTY LITTLE SOUPED-UP FOUR WHEEL DRIVE,_

_CARVED MY NAME INTO HIS LEATHER SEEEAAAAATS…!_

_I TOOK A LOUISVILLE SLUGGER TO BOTH HEADLIGHTS,_

_SLASHED A HOLE IN ALL FOUR TIRES…!_

_Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats…_

Even without the microphone's help, Daryl wondered if she could have extended her voice the entire reach of the room. He had no idea that such a little thing could sing so loud. He stared as she finished the song up, grinning and cocking her head to the side on the last verse, receiving screams, shouts, and whistles from men and women alike. As the song ended, the bar erupted into more noise, and she laughed at the admiration, stumbling before taking a bow. She was absolutely drunk.

"JEEP GIRL!" Oscar screamed, practically standing on his chair. To Daryl's horror, she squinted in their direction as she hopped off the stage. Daryl sat back down quickly, willing her not to come over. He reached across the table and pulled on Oscar's belt, jerking him off of the chair.

"Man, what the hell!" he exclaimed, stumbling backward.

"Sit down 'fore you make an ass o' yourself," Daryl hissed.

Oscar grinned a huge shit-eating grin at him before replying, "Before I make an ass out of _me_, or an ass out of _you_, Holmes?!"

Upon the other guy's bewildered expressions, Oscar happily announced that 'Jeep girl' was the cute blonde that Daryl had almost kicked Ian's ass over.

"I didn' almost kick his ass, Oscar. If you're gonna tell the story, at least do it righ'," Daryl said, grumpy that he was now the topic of conversation.

"Oh fuck," Steven said, "I hafta get an eyeful of this chick. I hadn't seen you bat an eye at any damn girl walking into the shop. I'd kinda started to wonder if you was… well, you know."

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl said, pointing his beer bottle at Steven. "Or I ain't gonna _almost_ kick yer ass."

Bob, one of the newer mechanics they'd hired right after Mark, just sipped his Jack and Coke, chuckling at the lot of them.

Ignoring Daryl now that he wasn't the only one in danger of pissing him off, Ian chimed in to Steven, "Dude, seriously. She's so fuckin' hot. Like a church girl gone bad."

Daryl gripped his bottle with both hands, willing himself not to hit Ian in the face. Ron would fire him for that for sure.

"_Nice_," Steven said appreciatively, looking upward like he was picturing it.

Ron would fire him for punching Steven, too, he told himself.

"Well, Daryl, is that what it's like?" Oscar asked. As Daryl glared at him, he exclaimed, "Come on, man, I'm spoken for; I hafta live vicariously through you! You heard Bertha; if I so much as look at Jeep girl, I'm a dead man. Give me _somethin'_!"

Then, a throaty laugh from behind froze all of Daryl's blood and he felt his heart stop. "Is _that_ what you were calling me? _Jeep girl_?!"

"Jeep girl!" Oscar drunkenly shouted in greeting, throwing his hands up in the air.

The other jackasses echoed his chorus, clapping and laughing, looking Beth over appreciatively. As he turned and fully took her in, Daryl suddenly got the feeling he wasn't going to make it home in one piece tonight.

Before long, Beth's crowd had come over, and the guys all gave up seats and packed around the table, happy for the intrusion of the women. They talked, joked, laughed, flirted and teased. Daryl was still on edge with Beth having perched right next to him. She didn't smell like coconut tonight, either. She was wearing some expensive perfume that made her smell amazing. He was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation being had around him, until Steven's voice broke through the din as he asked, "So, Jeep girl, are you seeing anybody currently?"

"Oh damn," Oscar said in mock astonishment. "Do you really wanna go there? Don't you remember what I told you? Ian almost _died_ over that shit, man!"

Daryl clenched his jaw in frustration at the turn of events. It's not like he could just threaten everyone at the table; Beth would think _he_ was interested. He was; but she could never find out just how much.

"Aw, come on, Daryl was joking around, weren't you, Daryl?" Steven asked, smiling politely at Daryl. His face was kind, but there was an unspoken challenge in his eyes. He was really doing this, ready to go toe to toe.

"And, I mean, if being a customer means I can't date you, then maybe we could work something else out with the Jeep," he said, turning his charming smile on Beth.

Daryl wanted to lash out at him, but wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't give him away. Ian was an idiot for sure, and Daryl knew Beth would have just gone on a bad date and found that out if he'd left her alone to say yes. But Steven wasn't an idiot at all, he was very intelligent. Not just that, but calculating and manipulative, even. Daryl couldn't ever put his finger on why, but something about Steven had always made his gut tingle in a bad way.

When he glanced at Beth, he was surprised to see that her expression was closed off as she stared back at Steven. All hint of her previous humor was gone, and he wasn't sure if she even noticed it when she pressed her thigh up against his.

"Isn't that some kind of prostitution?" one of the brunette girls blurted out after a beat, wrinkling her nose in distaste at Steven's suggestion.

Sasha threw her head back and laughed, affectionately slapping the other girl on the arm. "Tara, you're killing me tonight!"

Beth laughed along with them, much to Steven's dismay, and like that, the spell was broken. Satisfied, Daryl smirked as he took another pull off of his beer.

"So, are you girls enjoying the holiday festivities?" Bob asked, his eyes locked on the waitress dressed like a flapper.

"We are actually having a girl's night out on account of Beth," Lori supplied, slinging her arm around the petite blonde from her other side.

"I got fired from my job," Beth said, putting on a pout that was more for show than heartfelt. Daryl sensed that she'd already seemed to have bounced back from that particular set-back and he admired her resilience.

"Fuck those _pendejos_!" Oscar supplied as he ordered a round of shots from a passing waitress. Once she dropped their shots off, Beth held up her shot of whiskey and proclaimed, "To freedom!"

Daryl watched her in fascination as he mumbled, "T'freedom."

Everyone else echoed her sentiments, and she finished, "at least, freedom from my finances for the foreseeable future." Laughing, everyone did their shots and slammed the glasses down, rallying for more.

Holding her new shot glass high in the air, Beth raised her voice and placed her free hand on Daryl's shoulder, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on his collar bone. "This one is to Daryl, my grumpy, angry, huntsman-of-a-neighbor who terrorizes me in the middle of the night, runs me over with shopping carts, tries to shoot arrows at my head, gravels my driveway in secret, and buys me free slices of pie so that I can make stuff look good…"

Everyone else at the table glanced at each other in confusion, not one following the weirdness of Beth's toast, save Daryl, who could feel his face burning. "He is selfless and loyal and brave, and mark my words, if there was a zombie apocalypse tomorrow, Daryl Dixon would be the last man standing." She smiled down at him with all of the affection due to someone who was all of those things; but Daryl was not. "To Daryl," she finished staring him in the eye, while every drunken asshole at their table echoed her loudly. Daryl left his shot glass untouched, positive that at this point, if she'd toasted a squirrel, they'd have been more than happy to oblige her.

She smiled warmly at him, a smile that looked like it belonged behind closed doors where other people couldn't witness everything it stood for. Suddenly, Daryl thought about the photograph of his mother that he'd looked at earlier; her smile nearly identical to Beth's, full of passion and honesty and hope; full of life.

Then he skipped forward to the last picture, the one of his mother as she looked holding onto baby Merle, her face drawn and pinched, her expression vacant, her eyes no longer filled with adventure or amusement. She'd looked like the empty shell of the vibrant person she'd been beforehand, and Daryl's original assessment echoed through his skull:

_Undeniable proof that the Dixon men ruined everything they laid their hands on_.

Suddenly, it was Beth in that photo; pounds heavier, holding a screaming baby on one hip, with another on the way; all of the life drained out of her beautiful face. In the background sat Daryl, staring blankly at the T.V. with a beer in his hand.

He bolted out of there before anyone knew what had happened.

"Hey!" Beth shouted, exiting the bar behind him. He didn't slow down or stop to look at her.

"Daryl!" she ran forward and grabbed his arm. "Stop for a second, will you?"

He did, finally, stop. He didn't want to have this conversation with her. Not now, not ever. But then, Dixons didn't usually get what they wanted.

"What is your deal?" she asked, staring at him. Her face was devoid of any anger or accusation, only concern for him. He'd walked out on her, time and time again, and she only seemed to worry about what was wrong with _him_. If only she could open her big blue eyes a little wider and see that everything that's wrong _was_ him, then they'd finally get somewhere.

He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defensive. He had to be, or else she'd weasel her way passed his armor, like she had already managed to do on a regular basis. Even if he was Fort Knox, he was sure that it still wouldn't matter because somehow, the little blond could melt her way right through his walls.

"Why are you leaving again, Daryl?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" he bit back.

"You didn't even bring your truck! You rode here with Oscar, who is still in the bar, in case you hadn't noticed."

"And?" he countered, feeling his temper rising.

"What're you going to do? Hail a small town taxi? Steal some kid's bike? Walk 30 miles back home?" she scoffed at him as his face turned red. He hadn't had a plan when he left; he just had to get out of the bar and away from her.

"Didja ever stop an' think tha' maybe it ain't your damn business?"

"Don't do this again," she said sadly, shaking her head at him. "You're better than this. I know you are."

"That's the biggest problem between us, innit? You think you know everythin' there is ta know about me, an' you fuckin' don't!"

Beth glared at him then, but stood her ground. "I thought we were passed all of this! You're fine most days; hell, sometimes you even act like you might like me a little bit, and then all of a sudden, your mood shifts and you're shutting me out again!"

"Well maybe tha's where you belong!" he shouted back.

"No," she said sternly, "it isn't."

They stood and glowered at each other, people passing by on the street barely giving them any heed.

Daryl should have expected such a fight from her; the girl was stubborn as hell. But he felt angrier and more conflicted than he had in a long time, and for the first time in his adult years, he didn't feel like fighting or resisting; he felt like bolting. He wanted to just run from her and never look back. He needed to just get rid of his da's trailer, or leave it to rot, and get the hell out of town.

"Yes it is!" He yelled, stepping forward into her space and looming over her. The alcohol was coursing through him, and all he could feel was rage. He wanted to grab her and shake her until she understood that he wasn't any damn good.

As she stood there with her sky blue eyes boring into his, trusting, pitying, trying to pry out all of his truths; he snapped. She looked like a damned angel, as corporeal as tissue paper, reflecting everything that was good and hopeful in the world; all of the things he wasn't, and never deserved to have. He wanted to shred her into pieces and destroy it all. Then she'd see.

"You don' fuckin' get it!" he shouted, causing people to turn. "I ain't some _nice guy_ to pal aroun' with and take to fuckin' movies! I ain' the kinda guy who's gonna bring you some goddamn soup when you're sick! I don' sit around eatin' cherry fuckin' pie in diners; I ain't ever even had frozen yogurt, or sang out in fron' of a big crowda people like everythin' was _fun_!"

He was pacing around in front of her, panting, yelling; livid. She stared at him with a broken look on her face that was making it all worse.

"I ain't never got gifts from no Santa Claus! I never had my own fuckin' bike; hell! I ain't never had my own fuckin' _room_ before! My daddy sure as shit didn' pay for no fancy college degree; I barely fuckin' made it outta high school! The only reason I'm _here_ is because I ain't got no other fuckin' place to be! I'm nothin'! Nobody! You get that, yet, girl?! Does tha' penetrate through that thick fuckin' college-educated skull o' yours?!"

Tears streamed down her face as she stood there and listened to him unload, unmoving, but eyes locked with his as he paced and shouted. He couldn't figure out why she was still there, why she was just taking it. He turned away from her, tears burning the back of his throat. He felt like he was crumbling from the inside. Finally, he turned back to her, settling into an eerie calm.

"Look," he said, his voice dangerously low, "I don' know what your hang-up is with me, but ya needta let it go. I don' know if you're pissed at your daddy an' tryin' ta slum it to get back at 'im, or if you're part of a loser rehabilitation program, or whatever tha fuck it is; but you're done, ya hear me? _We're_ done."

"You don't mean that," she whispered to him, face hardened in determination, despite her tears. "You can't mean any of that."

"The fuck I don't," he growled, and then pointed at the bar. "Go back to your friends, Beth. Find someone else t'waste your time on." He turned and began to walk away.

"Why the hell are you so afraid?!" she shouted, ignoring his command.

He whipped around, coming at her again. "I ain't afraid o' nothin'!"

"The hell you aren't!" she said, shoving his chest in frustration. "That's exactly what all this is about! You act like nothing bothers you, ever! But obviously, shit does! You're so scared of being hurt or not being good enough; so scared of what other people think of you, that you'd rather destroy anything we have than take your hands off the wheel and just see where the hell it goes!"

"Haven' you been listenin'?! It ain't _goin'_ nowhere! It doesn' have anythin' to do with bein' scared, either! Tha's just tha way it _is_!"

"So that's it, then? You're just givin' up? Throwing in the towel on us?"

"Damnit, there ain't no _us_ to give up on! There never was," he said, rubbing both hands down his face, "Jesus, wha' d'you want from me, girl?"

Throwing her hands in the air, she shouted, "I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything!"

"Well I don't!" He yelled back.

"Yeah," she laughed, humorlessly. "You keep telling yourself that."

They glared at each other for a space of time before Beth's face finally smoothed out. She looked worn down; defeated, even. She released a lungful of air and broke eye contact with him, looking to the sky for answers she wouldn't find.

_Finally_, he thought. _Finally, she gets it_.

Tears were still coursing down her cheeks, just beginning to streak her make-up. But then she lowered her eyes and smiled at him; a sad, beautiful smile. She reached out and wound her small, cold hand around his wrist, squeezing it affectionately.

"You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon," she whispered. Then she stepped back, loosely dropping her hand, his fingers tingling as they slid through hers. With one last appraisal of him by way of her shining blue eyes, she finally turned and walked back towards the bar, her bright blond head disappearing among the crowd of people.

Daryl had finally managed to snuff out the last light in his dismal world, leaving him alone in the dark with nothing but his demons.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: So, I was actually fighting off some writer's block after the intensity that was Chapter 9. I usually do that by immersing myself in the characters again, so that I can get back into the right mind-set. Everything for this chapter I wrote at first was… despicable.**

**Anyway, on my search, I found a cute little generic image of Daryl and Beth fleeing the funeral home. The funniest part was the comment of the girl who posted it, though; she wrote: "It woulda been real hard for me to lose Daryl… Ida been attached to his face." I thought that was humorous, so I thought I'd share that with all of you. It's probably the truth for most of us, anyway. Tell it like it is! **

**Anywho, I needed to put a little disclaimer in here, for anyone who hasn't realized it yet, but I changed the rating for this story from T to M, because we're going to get into some more adult situations, and I really wasn't sure where the line for that was drawn. So I figured I'd be better off just setting the rating too high at M, rather than chance offending someone as a "T" and getting the story ripped off of the site.**

**So, there will be some violence in future chapters. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing, and feel like it would bother you too much to read it, then please use your best personal judgment and proceed through the rest of the story with caution.**

** [I make no promises as to the great execution of said chapters, as I'm not really sure how well I manage to write "violence," this being my first publically released story… so I guess we'll all just have to wait and be surprised together. I will warn you, though, that I love writing that moves people, and I really want to do my best to write in the same manner. If I'm writing something sweet, I want people to melt. When I write something funny, I want people to laugh. When I write something darker… well, I'm going to do my best to inflict the appropriate emotions into those chapters, too. So, yeah.. let's have some fun!]**

**As always, the reviews have been awesome! I had a few guest reviews that were flattering, and ****mhustler**** wrote a perfect line for how I'm feeling about the story, too: "I'm a sucker for fluff but I do enjoy angst." I will be honest, I haven't decided which way this thing is going. Maybe if I try really hard, we'll have a good mixture of both. So far, I haven't been able to imagine Daryl particularly fluffy, though, so we'll wait and see. Another guest reviewer, ****Dragon****, threw muses at me after the last chapter, and about 2 in the morning, they kicked in full-force, and I'm so excited for what I have planned to write for future chapters. **

**I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to translate the story into their own language and then left comments- that's so flattering! I'm glad the story is translating over well. I have a couple of repeat reviewers that I always enjoy reading: ****olicitySpain****, ****thePaperPalace****, ****Atilia Dawn Black****, ****Summers Rage****, **** .mightier****, ****TheGoldenElf****, ****ruger33****, ****Kerbella****, ****megs27****- so thank you, you guys rock! [I'm also sorry if I left anyone out. I read every review, and I love them all. It has just been so busy over the holidays..!] I even love the ones that're just like "What? NOoOoOo!" Because then I know that I'm going in unexpected directions ;)**

**Anyway, sorry for the long Author's Note. I'll keep them shorter from now on. I'm just sorry about how long this chapter took to get out to you. It was a hard one to write. Anyway, enjoy the build-up..! **

**Chapter 10**

After Beth's return to the bar, it had been apparent to everyone else that the evening's festivities were over. When Oscar had asked about Daryl, Beth only told him that Daryl had needed some fresh air, and would probably be waiting by the truck. As everyone said their goodbyes to one another, Beth steered clear of Steven, really not wanting to end the night on more than one bad note. Something about the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. He reminded her of _Zach_.

As they exited the bar, Beth scanned the surrounding area for any sign of Daryl coming back to redeem himself, but wasn't surprised when they made it to Lori's car without sight of him. Carol, who didn't seem to ever drink, smiled as Lori handed the keys over, and they all piled into the car. Sasha's friend, Tara, had meet them at the bar, but decided to stay the night at Sasha's rather than drive herself home, since she'd been doing shots with the rest of them. Beth was glad to get a window seat so that she could lean her forehead against the cold glass and stare out at the passing car lights and street lamps as they made their way back to Lori's. Sasha wordlessly put her hand in Beth's, and even though no one asked about what had happened when Beth had gone after Daryl, they had probably seen the evidence of it written all over her face when she returned.

She hadn't appreciated him yelling at her, but she was mostly just saddened by what he'd blurted out in his drunken rage. All of the stuff about his childhood and family life came as no surprise; only a depressing confirmation that for his whole life, he'd been treated as badly as she'd suspected. He didn't think he deserved to be happy, that much she knew. It's even possible that he didn't really know how to be happy. For some people, joy and contentment were elusive to them throughout their entire lives.

In her anger, she'd accused him of being afraid. She recalled the way he got in her face, reflecting on how his blue eyes had blazed as he'd yelled, "_I ain't afraid o' nothin'_!"

But he was. He was scared of letting people in, of being vulnerable, and even possibly afraid of having someone care about him. His ridiculous need to keep himself pressed down into the mud made her angry, too, though; whether he liked it or not, she already cared about him, and his crazy internal conflict between having feelings for her and trying not to give a shit at all was indeed giving her whiplash.

_Stubborn jerk_, she thought to herself.

Carol pulled the car into Lori's driveway and they all climbed out, cursing the cold October night.

They all gathered around for goodbyes, no one too keen on what to say, so Beth spoke first to break the tension. "Well, that was a fun night; for the most part."

She grinned as a couple of the girls laughed, looking relieved that she didn't seem to be too worse for wear. If Beth Greene was indeed good at something, it was not inflicting her troubles onto other people. There was no need to add unnecessary tension into their fun Halloween night out by telling them exactly what had happened outside the bar. After all, Daryl Dixon hadn't ripped his heart out of his chest and angrily pitched it at any of _them_.

"Well, Tara is just going to crash at my place, so we're going to get started walking there before we freeze," Sasha said, pointing in the direction of her house.

"It's too cold," Carol said softly, "I'll drop you off on my way home. It's not out of the way."

"Thank you," Tara said, smiling as she shifted from foot to foot and huddled further into her jacket.

Lori smiled, hugging Beth, and said, "This was really fun. It was nice to get out of the house and do something different."

They all murmured in agreement as they gave each other quick hugs, saying their goodbyes. Lori waved at them all a final time as she made her way up to her house, while Sasha and Tara climbed into Carol's car.

"Beth, you shouldn't be driving either," Carol said. "Get in; I'll drop you off, too."

Smiling, Beth bestowed Carol with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Did I ever tell you how amazing you look in the color red? That blouse suits you."

Shyly, Carol smiled and nodded, looking at the ground in her embarrassment. "You've said that twenty times already tonight. Ed would be furious if he saw me in this, though. Do you… do you mind if I change when I get to your house?"

Beth hated that Carol was married to a man who didn't appreciate his wife looking pretty. Whether it was just a way to control her, or because he was that insanely jealous and petty, Beth wasn't sure, but she didn't like it one bit. However, Beth knew that for now, trying to turn Carol against Ed and show her how bad he was for her would only backfire and possibly cause Carol to retreat from their friendship. So, for tonight, Beth let the comment slide as she smiled at Carol warmly. "Of course you can."

Just then, headlights blinded them as a car pulled into Lori's driveway, blocking in both Lori and Carol's cars. Carol and Beth both shielded their eyes as the driver got out of the car and began walking towards them, not bothering to turn off his lights. Finally, he got close enough that his body blocked out the beams enough to see his face.

Carol gasped and retreated back a few steps, while Beth stood there lamely, waiting for the man to say something.

"Ed," Carol squeaked out, as she braced her hand against the hood of her car. She looked ready to fall over from the shock of seeing him. Beth turned back and gave Carol's elusive husband a once-over. He was fairly heavy, sporting double chins and a beer gut that bespoke of evenings in front of the television plowing down cold one after cold one. His hair was thinning on the top of his head, and his eyes were devoid of warmth as he stared at his wife. As Beth looked on, he even seemed to get angrier; his nostrils flared and his lips curled up in disgust.

"Wha' the fuck are you wearin'?" he said loudly, moving around Beth to make a grab at Carol.

"Hey," Beth said, backing up to be beside Carol, holding her hands up. She knew the situation needed defusing, and quickly, but the alcohol was still buzzing through her veins and her thoughts were fuzzy.

Carol had begun crying, and stuttering, clenching her jacket closed over the blouse as though it'd help him forget what he'd already seen.

"You fucken' lie about bein' at that bitch's house, an' then I come over here to fin' you out on the fuckin' town dressed like a goddamn hooker?!" He grabbed her arm and shook her as she cried out at his grip. Sasha and Tara were out of the car by then, shouting at him to let her go. Beth pulled on his sleeve, telling him to release Carol's arm, when suddenly, his other hand came out of nowhere and cracked across Carol's cheek. The slap seemed to echo in the night air before all hell broke loose. As Tara took off across Lori's front lawn, Sasha ran around from the other side of the car, screaming as Ed continued yelling and shaking Carol, spittle flying from his mouth.

Try as she might, Beth couldn't pry his large, meaty hand from around Carol's arm. Carol was crying and hysterical, wailing at Beth to leave. Ed finally swung his arm out, shoving Beth away from them, where she uncoordinatedly fell to the ground on her rump. He grabbed Carol again, jerking her away from her car and flinging her in the direction of his headlights. She lost her footing and fell to the ground on her hands and knees. Ed strode forward and arced his foot back like he was preparing to kick her, so Beth wrapped both of her arms around his ankle and held on. Ed lost his balance and brought his foot down to steady himself, his boot heel landing sharply on her shin, causing her to yelp in pain and release him.

As he regained his footing and turned on her, Beth attempted to get onto her own feet in case he attacked. She'd barely made it to one knee when he grabbed a fistful of hair on the top of her head in one hand, and punched her in the face with his other. He swung at her again, but Beth raised her arms to defend herself and his fist connected with the thicker part of her forearm, sending a jolt of pain through her bones.

Then he released her, and she fell backwards against the car, dizzy and dazed. Sasha was at her side in an instant, yelling hysterically and shaking her. Beth got her eyes open, but all she could see were blurry splotches of color for a few seconds. The lights from Ed's car had been blinding her against the darkness to begin with, and the hit to her face had left her reeling. Then she realized Lori's house was bathed in red light, then blue, then back to red.

She sat up with Sasha's help and turned to look in the direction of the lights, where she spotted three cop cars sprinkled diagonally in the street in front of Lori's house, and one pulled right up behind Ed's car, blocking him in. Lori's husband, Rick, rose to his feet from where he'd been speaking to Carol and Lori, and made his way over to Beth next. Beyond him, Beth could see two police officers pinning Ed to the ground on his stomach, cuffing him and reading him his rights.

Rick knelt down in front of Beth and lifted her chin up to inspect her face. "Ms. Greene, are you alright? How are you feeling?" He asked, bringing out a flashlight to shine into her eyes one at a time.

"Like I've been punched in the face," she replied, smirking a little. Sasha let out a sound that was part laugh, part sob, and threw her arms around Beth's neck.

Rick quirked a lip, but it didn't reach his eyes. It wasn't really a joking matter, Beth realized. She was just too damn drunk to really grasp it all; even the pain in her face, shin, and arm were barely registering.

"Can you tell me what day it is?" he asked, frowning into her open eyes with that damned pen flashlight.

"Halloween," she said simply.

"How about the day of the week?" he asked, turning his light off finally.

"Mmm.. Thursday," she said.

"Well, I think you're alright, but you might have a mild concussion. I'll have the ambulance guys take a look at you for sure. After that, we'll get a statement, is that alright?"

She nodded, and Rick patted her on the shoulder before standing up to talk to one of the officers that'd stuffed Ed in the back of the police cruiser.

Beth stood up and Sasha walked with her over to where Lori and Carol were still crouched on the ground. Carol looked up at them with tears still streaming down her face. She covered her mouth with one hand and said, "Oh, Beth! Your face…"

Still dizzy, Beth sat down next to her, and she laid her head on Carol's shoulder. Carol held Beth's hand in her own and asked quietly, "Beth, why on earth would you do a thing like that? You shouldn't have gotten in the middle of it. This was between Ed and myself."

"Your husband has no right to hit you," Beth said, looking Carol in the eye. "Besides, I pressured you into wearing the red blouse when you didn't want to, knowing Ed would hate it. I'm as much to blame as you are for what happened."

"None of this was your fault," Carol said softly.

"Or _yours_," Beth pointed out, firmly but gently. "This was all Ed."

Carol looked away from Beth, and though she could tell Carol didn't quite believe her, she didn't disagree, either. It was a good sign.

Once the ambulance got there and checked the girls out, Rick got the witness statements from everyone concerning the incident.

"Do you want to press charges?" He asked Beth after she'd given him her account. She looked over at Carol, who was leaned against her car next to Lori, twisting her wedding band around on her finger.

"Look, I'll be holding him in jail for a few days for other things; drunk driving, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest, to name a few. You have some time to decide," he told her softly as she continued to stare at Carol. She nodded and thanked him, promising to let him know what she decided.

Finally, all of the cops pulled away, except for Rick, who had been close enough to the end of his shift that he opted to just cut out an hour early and stay home with Lori, who was still shaken by the confrontation in her front yard.

"Come home with me," Beth said, turning to Carol.

"No, I couldn't," Carol said softly.

"It'll be good for both of us. Ed will be locked away for a few days, and Sophie is at a friend's house anyway. You'd just be all alone. Come stay at my place for a few nights."

Carol frowned, looking back at Ed's abandoned car, which had been re-parked in the street so that the driveway was clear again.

"Let's drop the girls off, grab some things from your place, and we can come back for my Jeep in the morning. What do you say?" Beth asked, smiling at Carol.

At last, Carol nodded, and they all climbed back into her car.

As Beth suggested, dropping Sasha and Tara off had been the first stop on their route, followed by a quick stop at Carol's to gather her overnight things. Then, they finally made it to Beth's cabin.

"Make yourself at home," Beth told Carol as she pulled her bomber jacket off and hung it on a hook near the door. "The bathroom is that door off to your right."

Beth went into the kitchen to get a pot of tea started on the stove before heading into her room to change. After throwing on a loose sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, she went into her small bathroom to wash her face of the Catwoman make-up. She felt like it had been so long ago since she'd last been in there; drawing on her whiskers and nose, excited for a fun Halloween night out.

But when she flipped the lights on, she flinched at the image in the mirror. While it _felt_ like time had marched quickly forward, the girl staring back at her was a ghost from her past.

Her face was already beginning to show signs of a purple, splotchy bruise that would most likely only get darker and worse before beginning to heal. Although Ed's fist had luckily been beefy enough to only catch her on the eyebrow and cheekbone, sparing most of her eyeball from the impact, the white of her eye was still mildly bloodshot. She pressed her fingers into the swelling next to her eye and hissed at the pain.

"Long time, no see," she mumbled at the reflection in the mirror. She stared at it a second longer, waiting for the girl to say or do something, but the only remained a mirrored ghost of the Beth of now.

She managed to wash the remaining make-up off of her face without looking back into the mirror, before exiting the bathroom without a second glance.

Beth paused at the entrance to the living room, watching as Carol ran her fingers along one of the soft throw pillows perched on the couch, and looking from photo to photo of what Beth had hanging in frames on her walls.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked the older woman.

Carol started a little, clearly absorbed in her own thoughts, but then nodded politely at Beth's offer. Beth noticed Carol's cheek was swollen, too, from where Ed had slapped her. She wasn't any worse for wear, though, and Beth was impressed with Carol's resilience and fortitude. The woman was a survivor, she'd give her that.

Carol sat at Beth's round kitchen table as Beth poured them each a mismatched mug of hot green tea. After Beth took her seat, they both sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and contemplating the evening's turn of events.

To Beth's surprise, Carol was the first to break their silence with a small chuckle.

"You must think I'm such an idiot," Carol said, shaking her head and staring into the depths of her mug.

"No," Beth said simple, resting her chin on the knee she had bent to her chest.

Carol looked at her in doubt.

"You're kind-hearted, sympathetic, forgiving; but certainly not an idiot."

Carol said nothing, but when she looked away, Beth could see the tears shimmering, unshed, in her blue eyes. She was listening, at least.

So, Beth took a breath and continued.

"I lived on a farm when I was a girl," she told Carol, finally starting to feel sober and balanced. "My father loved that farm, but after my mother passed away, the place brought him only sadness. He'd loved my momma so much; he'd have gone to the ends of the earth to search something out, just as long as it put a smile on her face. After she died, daddy decided he needed more female influence for my sister, Maggie, and I.

He opened his own veterinary clinic when we got there, and shortly after that, he met my step-momma. She had a boy only slighter older than Maggie and had also lost her husband, so I think they bonded over that.

My daddy loved her very much, too, and always told me, 'you should always leave enough room in your heart for the people who matter to you the most, because more will come along when you least expect it.'

My older sister had always been the strongest of us; over-protective and bossy. No matter how old we got, she kept me feeling like the baby of the family. So, when I got accepted into a widely accredited advertising program at a University in Chicago, I jumped at the chance to be independent."

She paused to take a sip of tea and gauge how much Carol was really interested in listening to her story, but Carol smiled encouragingly for her to continue.

"Everything was going well for awhile. A couple of months out of college, I'd been out with some friends and we got approached by this really handsome guy. We talked, and he made me laugh. He was so charming, Carol. By the end of the night, he was all I could think about, and I was ecstatic the following day when he called me, just like he said he would. He took me on nice dates, and before long, we were exclusive. My friends loved him and he was everything I thought my daddy and Mags would want for me. Zach was educated, earned a good living, clean, took care of his apartment and his car, took me out on thoughtfully planned-out dates, and bought be little gifts here and there. I thought he might've been 'The One,' until about 6 months into our relationship, when everything changed.

I'd gone full-time with my company by then, and my office days had turned into office nights, which had had sometimes stretched into office weekends, as well. We began to fight over my lack of availability; he was angry that I didn't have him constantly as my priority number 1.

Then he got the idea in his head that maybe there was someone else at work eating up my attention."

Beth paused to take another sip of her tea, and Carol shook her head. "Men are senseless," she supplied.

Beth hummed in agreement. Then she said, "the first time Zach hit me, he'd looked as stunned as I'd felt."

Carol's expression turned sad; no doubt she'd already suspected such a skeleton to be hanging in Beth's closet.

"He was so sorry for doing it," Beth continued. "He spent two whole weeks buying me things and taking me out to fancy places; trying to make up for what happened. By the second incident, I'd almost forgotten about the first one. The third time he struck me, I left him."

"See?" Carol said quietly. "I knew you were brave."

"I was scared. He'd tried to coax me back the old-fashioned way, sending me chocolates and bouquets of flowers at work, leaving me notes. When I didn't respond to any of that, though, the notes became threatening.

He even left one on my pillow one night when I was at a business dinner. So, I changed my locks. Then I had break-ins. He called once to tell me that if he couldn't have me, then no one could. I filed a police report, but all they did was slap him with a restraining order.

My so-called friends were too charmed by him; they thought I was over-reacting or lying. I even left work one night to find that he'd slashed all 4 of my tires while my car was in our company parking garage.

The very last night I was in Chicago, I'd come home to find my cat's collar hanging from the wind chime on my terrace. She'd been missing for a couple of days, but she often slipped in and out through the door, so I hadn't thought a lot about it at the time. The collar was definitely the last straw, though. I never knew if Zach had just stolen her to freak me out, or if he'd actually been capable of killing her, but I didn't stick around to find out.

I packed my bags and flew to my sister's house in Cincinnati for a few days. I bought this cabin over the internet and then hopped on a plane; I ran and I never looked back."

"Are you ever worried he'll find you?" Carol whispered, as though Zach could possibly overhear them talking about him.

"Nah," Beth responded. "I sublet my apartment to a girl I used to go to the gym with all of the time, so that's the only thing still in my name. I didn't tell my sister everything, but I told her _enough_. Her fiancé is such an amazing man that he didn't hesitate to put everything down here in his own name, just in case. Every piece of mail I receive actually comes addressed to Glenn Rhee."

"That's smart," Carol told her, smiling a bit.

"That's one way to look at it," Beth said, smiling back. "Another is; my sister is way too over-protective for her own good."

Carol nodded a bit, eying her empty tea mug and said, "It's not such a bad thing, having someone look out for you."

Beth sensed that Carol was talking about her. "I suppose it's not," she replied, picking up both coffee mugs and rinsing them out in the sink.

"My point is," Beth said, "I know how easy it is to get sucked into someone bad without really knowing it, and how scary it is when you're there; and especially, how hard it is to break free. So, I just… I know where you're coming from, you know?"

"Thank you," Carol said sincerely.

Beth poured the remainder of the tea in a pitcher and placed it in the fridge, scoffing at her own supply of food. "Looks like we need to make a grocery store run tomorrow. Want to do that before we grab Sophia?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Carol responded.

After Beth fixed up the hide-a-bed in the couch using clean spare sheets, another thing she corrected after the night Daryl fell into the river; they said their goodnight pleasantries and crawled into their separate beds.

As Beth drifted off to sleep that night, she didn't bother thinking about Zach, her lost job, or her past. Her thoughts instead drifted to a handsome loner with long shaggy hair who skulked around in the woods with a crossbow. She thought of him as he'd stood on front of her that evening, slinging his anger around like a tangible object, trying to prove to her that he was unlovable.

Then she thought about the way he'd shared the blanket with her in the truck on the way back from the hospital, the entire Saturday afternoon he'd spent fixing her driveway without expecting anything in return, and especially the night he'd deliriously admitted that she smelled really good.

No, Daryl Dixon wasn't a bad man. A stubborn, rude, obnoxious, impossible man; he certainly was. But he was no monster.

Beth knew a thing or two about monsters.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Ah! I'm so glad you all liked the last chapter! I was worried, I'm not going to lie. I'm also really excited that you guys are digging the interactions with the other characters. To be honest, Carol is one of my favorite characters on the show; I just don't feel like she's a good romantic fit for Daryl. She's a bit older, and they come from the same side of the tracks, so they definitely make great friends, in my opinion. I'm glad that Daryl has her to keep him grounded on the show. I would like to kind of begin forming that same friendship between them in my story, just because I feel like Carol was a lot of the reason Daryl released a lot of his demons and tried being a good man to begin with. Like the episode when she tells him that he'd done more for her little girl in two days than her daddy had done for her in her whole life... You know he had some feels in that one. Or when she tells him he's every bit as good as Rick and the other men; then he rolled over and pretended to ignore her, but you could see him soaking that in. That was the episode I fell in love with Daryl Dixon, because I could tell no one had ever said anything so kind to him in his life. I want all of that reflected in this AU, so that's where I'm channeling it from. =)**

**I also had a reviewer remark that she was surprised I didn't have more reviews because the story was so good, and I was extremely flattered by that. BUT, I published this thinking it wouldn't get a lot of attention, so the amount of feedback I've already gotten has blown my mind. I'm not greedy- the reviews I get from all of you after every chapter is more than enough to keep me happy and writing, no worries! ;)**

**So, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed the story in the last 12 hours, (and over the course of the entire story, for that matter.) It made me turn to my computer in my down-time today, and now I have another chapter for you. I'm excited to show you where I'm headed with this. I think you'll like it.**

**Anyway, without further ado, I give you chapter 11.**

**P.S.- I was literally falling asleep while trying to get chapter 10 posted last night; it was 3 a.m. and I'd been up for almost 20 hours with no caffeine and lots of walking around. So, when I finally read the chapter myself this morning, I noticed a couple of spelling errors that will bother me forever. I apologize! I'll try to get these finished sooner in the day so that I don't let things like that slip through the cracks. I feel like a misspelled word sometimes pulls you out of the story; like when CDs would have scratches on them and skip in the middle of the song. Fuckin' annoying.**

**Chapter 11**

Daryl made his way through the aisles with a shopping basket in hand. So far, he only had a package of plastic silverware and a bag of chips in there; he hadn't had an appetite in a couple of days, ever since the night at the bar when he'd screamed at Beth. He'd gotten what he wanted from her, but the victory hadn't been sweet. Now he was just as he had been before stumbling upon her in the woods; alone and aimless.

His usual Saturday hunt that morning hadn't gone as planned, so he grabbed a package of ground beef to hold him over until he could get some venison next weekend.

He was headed for the refrigerated beer aisle when he spotted two women discussing some fruit. One woman was the older woman from the bar, Carol; and the woman she was talking to was undeniably Beth. Even though Daryl couldn't see her face, everything about her was intimately familiar to him; the shade of her light, golden blonde hair, and the way she carried herself, her brown cowboy boots that her tight-fitted jeans were tucked into; her ass. She was even in that bomber jacket from Halloween night, and the hand she was holding the strange-looking fruit in had red painted fingernails.

As soon as she put her fruit in her basket and began to turn, Daryl ducked into the aisle closest to him. He couldn't face her; not now.

He stood still; eyes glued to the end of the aisle, hoping she didn't spot him frozen there if she walked passed him.

Instead, he heard her laugh from the other side of the shelf he was against, and he leaned his forehead on the cold metal, listening to the sound of her voice from the safety of his cover.

"I definitely like the name of this one," she said, showing whatever she had to Carol, because she chuckled quietly in return.

"Who gets paid to think up these names?" He heard Beth wonder out loud. "The lipstick colors are just as bad."

"Speaking of getting paid," Carol said, "Have you figured out what happened to your last paycheck, yet?"

He heard Beth sigh, and she responded, "Nope. I called over to my old apartment this morning while you were in the shower, to see if my tenant had gotten it in the mail for me yet. She hadn't though, and promised to call as soon as it came in. When I talked to my old boss on Friday, she swore they'd sent it out a week ago; that they'd cut the check and mailed it the Monday after I was let go. I worked only a block from where I'd lived; it shouldn't take my money that long to get there."

"I wonder if they had it addressed to your cabin and it got lost on its way down here?" Carol suggested.

"It's possible," Beth responded. "My boss had been very adamant to know where I was going to be at when I started working remotely, so they had my new address; but all of the other paperwork that was sent concerning my termination had gone to my old apartment in Chicago, so it wouldn't make sense for the check to get sent off to the Georgia address."

"If you need money, I could…" Carol started, but Beth cut her off.

"No, definitely not. It's very sweet of you to offer, but I still have a savings account I'm feeding off of for now, until I find something new. I would just be less anxious with the last check deposited into the account; I'd feel like I have more time to job-hunt." Beth laughed a little, putting something back down on the shelf.

"Where are you looking for jobs at?" Carol asked.

Daryl, who'd been just enjoying the sound of Beth's voice, suddenly found that he'd been craving that knowledge, too. He'd been the one to separate them and insist they went their different ways; for her to leave him alone to rot. As painful as it was to see her and bump into her every now and then in town, though, he certainly didn't want to imagine her moving out of the cabin and leaving altogether.

He had been planning to move, that was true; but he figured he'd leave with the comforting knowledge that Beth would still be living in her beautiful little cabin, surrounded by friends, eating in the diner, and even driving her bright green Jeep into his old shop for an oil change every couple of months. If she left, he wouldn't know where to picture her. He wouldn't know what new things she wore, or where she liked to eat. He wouldn't be able to imagine her reading a book in her favorite chair, because he wouldn't know what her new place looked like. It would drive him crazy, imagining her somewhere else in the vast world, never to be found or seen by him again.

"I don't know," he heard her say; her voice sounded further down the aisle. "I've been checking out all of the different ad companies in the major cities; Atlanta, New York, Los Angeles, Dallas. Cincinnati, too, since that's where daddy, Maggie, and Glenn live. I don't know if I'd really want to be back there again, but I do miss them a lot. It wouldn't be terrible."

As she spoke, Daryl imagined the places she'd said. New York? Dallas? Cincinnati? He couldn't picture her in any of those huge cities. Then movement caught his eye and he stood up quickly, wrenching his forehead off of the edge of the shelf.

There stood Beth, in the mouth of the aisle, frozen and staring right at him.

He was at a loss for words. Carol looked back and forth between them, but stayed silent.

"What're you doing here?" Beth said quietly.

"Shoppin', what's it look like?" Daryl asked, agitated at being caught eavesdropping on her.

Beth raised her eyebrows and looked around her at the merchandise on the shelves before looking back at him skeptically. "You're shopping here? For what?"

Quickly, Daryl looked around him, for the first time taking note of which aisle he'd ducked into. He was surrounded by feminine products. The whole aisle was tampons, pads, feminine wipes- whatever those were, and birth control tests.

He opened his mouth to formulate an excuse, when he looked back at her; and then stopped and really looked at her. She was different somehow. Her loose hair was straight, which he hadn't seen in awhile, and she was wearing a blue knitted beanie on her head. Those changes were small, and normal, though. Something else was off about her.

As they stared at each other, he frowned, realizing what it was. She was wearing make-up, and lots of it. Beth always looked beautiful, but she'd always been very natural about it. He'd doubted, with how light her skin and hair was, that her eyelashes could be naturally so dark, or that her lips could possibly be that shiny and pink on their own; but he'd never seen her all gussied up the way most women were when they wanted attention from men. Today, she wasn't quite overboard, but the color of her face was different, and he could tell she was wearing it on pretty thick.

Finally, she fidgeted under his scrutiny, looking to her right, shifting her balance to her other foot, and that's when he noticed it; the swelling. The entire left side of her face looked a little puffier than the right, and when she looked away from him, he could see that the white of her left eye was also fairly bloodshot. Then, the same as when staring at one of those 3d puzzles where hidden images slowly unveil themselves, Daryl finally noticed a huge splotch of discoloration immerging from under her skin-toned make-up.

A bruise, he realized. The whole left side of her face was fucking bruised.

He dropped his grocery basket and strode towards her. She looked startled, but stayed glued to the spot as Daryl got right up into her space and put both of his hands on her jaw, encompassing most of her face, turning her head so he could get a better look at the damage.

She closed her eyes and the expression on her face was pained. She probably didn't want him touching her, he realized sadly. He didn't blame her; even before he'd been such an ass to her, she didn't need his dirty hands all over her lovely skin. He released her and stepped back, face reddened by his lack of control when it came to her.

"Damnit, who did this?" he said, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them off of her. She opened her eyes to look him over, fidgeting uncomfortably, unconsciously putting a hand over her bruised cheek where he'd touched her.

"What makes you think someone did anything?" she asked, too innocently.

"You've been punched 'n tha face," he said, his voice raising. He swallowed and focused on keeping his temper down. He stomped down on the images threatening to overtake him; of some asshole putting his fist in Beth's eye. And he was pretty sure it was a man, too. A woman's hand would have been small enough to hit Beth right in the eyeball, and it would have looked a lot worse than her cheek and brow-bone.

"You can't know that," she said quietly, not doing a good job of disputing his claim.

"I've been punched 'n tha face 'nough times ta know wha' it looks like afterward," Daryl said, staring her down.

"It's none of your concern, Daryl," Beth said, averting her eyes and attempting to walk passed him.

He stepped to the side, blocking her escape. "The hell it ain't! I shoulda… I shoulda been there to protect you. To do somethin'. I still can, Beth. Tell me who did this." He hoped he didn't sound as desperate to her ears as he did to his own.

"You could've, but you weren't," Beth said, smiling sadly. "You made your choice, Daryl. What happens to me is of little consequence to you now, and I definitely don't need you running around town beating people up over me. We're done, remember?"

He said nothing; what could he say? They both knew how bad he'd fucked up. Those were his exact words, too; we're done. He could feel his chest constricting with the weight of what he'd done to them, of what had happened to her after he'd managed to chase her off; of what she'd endured when he wasn't around to do anything to stop it.

"But at least there's a silver lining to all of this," she said sweetly; her optimism in the face of adversity never ceased to amaze him, and he found himself drawn into her light once again.

"And wha's that?" he asked softly, looking over the rest of her face; he would probably never get over how beautiful she was. He'd also never forget just how sorry he was, for all of it.

"You don't give a crap about anything," she said without batting an eye, "so at least you won't lose any sleep over it."

The air left him like he'd been punched in the gut. All the sweetness and humor he was used to seeing was absent from the expression on her face now as she stared at him; and right then, he knew what the worst feeling in the world was. It was the complete and utter indifference of the only person in the world you gave a damn about.

Turning to Carol, Beth said kindly, "Go ahead and finish up in here. I'm going to head over to the stand and get the vegetables we'd talked about." Her eyes flickered back over to his, and she said, "Have a nice day, Mr. Dixon."

As she strode passed him, her coconut scent lingering in the air, he recalled the afternoon in the shop's parking lot when she'd bitten her pink lip and called him Mr. Dixon in such a way that he'd felt himself harden in response to her. This time had been nothing like that. Her tone was formal, icy, and void of any familiarity. He'd never felt like more of a piece of shit in his entire life. Right then, he felt more like his da' than he ever had before.

Daryl swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. He deserved every bit of her derision, and he knew it. That didn't make the experience any easier to live through, though.

As Carol ducked her head and tried to walk away from him, Daryl caught her by her upper arm. "Wait," he said. "Tell me wha' happened."

The older woman's eyes shifted around, glancing from thing to thing like an animal backed in a corner. She glanced at his eyes once, but looked away just as quickly. He gently released her arm, holding his hands up in front of him to show her that he meant no harm.

"Please," he said gruffly.

"I can't tell you," she said softly, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"I jus' need to know wha' happened to Beth," he said. "It'll kill me, not knowin'."

Shaking her head, she looked down at her hands, fiddling with the small, dull wedding band on her left finger. "I can't. You'll… you'll hurt him."

"Damn righ' I'm gonna hurt 'im," Daryl snapped, causing Carol to flinch back from him. He cursed his temper and tried for a more even tone. "So it was a man tha' did that to her face."

"Yes," Carol said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "But you don't understand. He wasn't after her, not at first, she just… she got in the way, and it all happened so fast. He's real sorry, Daryl… about all of it."

Well, that answered that. Ed fuckin' Peletier; Carol's very own husband. Daryl shook his head, jaw clenched, as the anger swelled up inside of him. He's gonna be real sorry, Daryl thought.

"Please," Carol said, laying her hand on his forearm. She looked at him desperately, like she could read the retribution that was on his mind. "He was just mad that I'd lied to him about going out with the girls. He'd had a few drinks-" Daryl chuckled humorlessly, interrupting her. He remembered what it meant when his da' had a few drinks.

She looked down again, wiping her cheeks on her sleeve. "Anyway, when he came at me, Beth stepped into the middle of it. You know her," she said, laughing a little. "Out to save the world, one damaged soul at a time."

He caught the double-meaning of her words as she looked back up to his face. He wondered how well Carol and Beth really knew each other. What had the blonde told this woman about him? As though seeing the curiosity warring with his attempt at seeming uninterested, Carol smiled a little at him and said, "She thinks the world of you, you know."

"Not after Thursday nigh'," he said quietly, thinking back on all of the horrible things he'd screamed at her. Before that night, she'd seemed to have some kind of skewed idea that he was a decent person; that he was normal, and had been raised like everyone else. But he wasn't, and the only thing he could do for her was drag her down into the depths with him. Beth deserved better than that. She deserved better than him.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Carol said, echoing his quiet tone of voice. He felt like they were telling secrets in the bowels of a library instead of standing in the middle of the tampon aisle at the super market.

He wanted her to elaborate and quit being so damned cryptic, but he wasn't sure how to ask without seeming too eager. So, he said nothing.

"You hurt her," she said quietly, "probably worse than getting hit in the face, if I'm being honest. Her expression was crushed when she came back into the bar that night."

Daryl remembered how stoic she'd been when she had reached out and squeezed his wrist, probably knowing he wouldn't have accepted something as intimate as a hug from her. You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon, she had promised. And he had. He had regretted that night ever since, but only because he knew she was the best thing that'd ever happened to him. Living with the regret of not being a better person for her was better than living with the regret of ruining her, though, and he felt the pain was justified.

He just hadn't considered that doing what he did would really make her feel bad. She liked teasing him and smiling at him and making him squirm, but he'd always figured it was just the fun of doing it that she enjoyed, not necessarily him or his company. She had her pick of much better men than a Dixon, so the idea that he was hurting her so much with his actions had never really crossed his mind.

Daryl realized as he looked back at Carol that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts. She just stood there, staring at him with a knowing look on her face. "Any other girl would probably work on moving on, but Beth is different. She's forgiving and kind, and she can see a goodness in you that most people can't. She's defended you when other people told her you weren't worth her attention, and despite everything, I've never heard her say one bad thing about you."

Daryl raked his hand through his hair, feeling anxious and sick to his stomach. He'd done what he thought was right; he'd chosen to live with those consequences. Hurting Beth in the process hadn't been part of the plan, though. And now he had this stranger telling him things about Beth that he felt like he should've known about her all along. Of course she was forgiving and kind; of course she wouldn't just let him slip through her fingers and leave him to fall off of the face of her world. She was a better person than that, and not for the first time, he feared her goodness would be both of their undoing.

"She has forgiven Ed, too, you know," Carol said so softly that he almost couldn't hear her. "I love him, he's my husband. Despite everything he's done, I still love him. I don't want to see him get hurt. What he did to Beth wasn't right, but she's forgiven him for what he did to her, and we're trying to move on from it. Please," she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes again as she stared at Daryl, determined. "Please don't go after him. Just let it go."

He said nothing, willing himself not to give in to what he knew was the truth. Beth probably had forgiven the asshole, but it didn't mean Daryl had to. He needed to break his knuckles on Ed Peletier's fat, drunk skull. The coward didn't deserve forgiveness, or an ounce of Beth's kindness. But then, neither did Daryl, and yet, she'd given it to him on many occasions. He suddenly felt as though, even if he wasn't a good man, it's what Beth deserved right now. He could at least pretend to be one, just this once.

Taking his silence as permission to finally leave, Carol turned away from Daryl.

"Wait," he said, sharper than he'd intended.

Carol turned back to look at him, waiting; a few tears leaking out onto her cheeks.

He clenched his jaw shut, as though he could physically force his next sentence from coming out. "I won't touch 'im," Daryl said stiffly, hating himself as the words rolled off of his tongue. "If Beth… if she wants ta give 'im another chance; if she wants ta forgive 'im an' forget it happened… Then, jus' this once, I won't go after 'im."

At his words, Carol's eyes widened slightly, she looked shocked at his concession. Then, she smiled at him, a genuine smile, and thanked him profusely.

"If I find out he so much as looks at 'er funny from now on, though," Daryl warned, his face hardening, "he'll wish he'd ne'er been born in this shithole. Am I clear?"

"Yes," she said. "Thank you, Daryl."

He grunted at her, feeling like the biggest prick in the world for not going after Ed. For Beth, he reminded himself. It's what she'd want.

As he reached down and picked his grocery basket back up, Carol said quietly, "She was right about you. You're one of the best."

He wasn't; he was far from it. But for Beth, he could try.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Everyone's reviews were so much fun to read after the last few chapters… lots of ideas as to the direction I'm taking this thing, and many, many compliments. A couple of you were sick, and I hope you're feeling better! Illness over the holidays sucks. Although, my husband has the flu currently, and he's no fun, so we've just been hanging out and relaxing… therefore, you have the influenza to thank for all the Bethyl chapters! Anyway, as always, thanks so much for all of the reviews, the favorites, the follows, and the love!**

**I'm going to dedicate this particular chapter to a friend of mine. He will remain unnamed for personal reasons and I'd rather not end up on some kind of crazy radar, but he has been following the story and he knows who he is. He's exactly the type of guy to rush in and save a damsel in distress, as he has done many times over the years. I'm a super huge fan, and I've appreciated our 14 years of weird dreams, random conversations, extensive over-sharing, quirky obsessions, embarrassing secrets, and ridiculousness. So, here's to you, J. You're the best.**

**I really, really, really hope I hit the nail on the head with this chapter. I wanted it to be… well, I guess if I reach my goal of what I want to accomplish with this chapter, you'll all let me know, right? Let it begin!**

**Enjoy ;) **

**Chapter 12**

For the two nights after Carol and Sophie had left and gone back home to be with Ed, Beth's cabin seemed more quiet than before; the rooms seemed bigger and emptier, and the evenings lonely. She'd never been a terribly dependent person, always having enjoyed solitude and her own space; but she hadn't lived with anyone since college, except for a small stint of time when Zach had taken to staying in her apartment a lot, and she'd nearly forgotten what it was like to have someone to chat with over dinner.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was all of the chatter going on her in head that was driving her crazy. It had only been three days since Beth had run into Daryl in the grocery store while she and Carol were picking up ingredients for their Saturday night dinner. She hadn't known, until she'd run into him, that she was harboring such hurt from their argument on Halloween. As soon as she'd seen him, her heart had leapt into her chest, and her stomach did summersaults. For a moment, her stupid body had forgotten than he wasn't hers to be excited to see anymore; he'd practically banished her out of his life out of some sort of ridiculous notion of protecting her from himself. So when reality had come crashing down and her heart caught up with the truth of the situation, she'd felt wounded, and a rush of anger had caught her by surprise.

The words she'd said to him echoed in her memory, but what hurt the most was the _look_ on his face after she'd said what she did. Daryl, the man with the strength to endure a lifetime of pain at the hands of his father, who trudged to her doorstep after hours of being outside in the freezing cold with a concussion, who'd endured the scorn of random strangers from town on a daily basis and didn't act like he cared one bit; _that_ Daryl had flinched at her mean-spirited words and looked at her with such a destroyed expression that she felt as bad as if she'd kicked a puppy.

He was stubborn and ridiculous, that much she was certain of. However, he obviously didn't know how to react when faced with something as simple as kindness, and lashing out at him certainly wasn't going to help. Beth had always prided herself on how level-headed she was; so unlike her sister Maggie who was quick-tempered and not afraid to speak her mind whether it offended or not. Usually, Beth was the patient, caring one; the one who brought home strays and listened to Maggie rant for twenty solid minutes about how much she hated other drivers, the one who didn't make a stink when someone stole a parking spot she had been waiting on, or brought her the wrong food at a restaurant.

But there was just something about Daryl Dixon that got under her skin and drove her to the brink of her nerves. She'd given him so many opportunities to open up to her more, to form a stronger bond, to get to know each other. Each and every time, he backed out of range and scampered off, though.

The frustrating part was _knowing_ that Daryl had feelings for her. She could see it on his face at times, when his guard dropped ever so slightly, and he had her pinned with his hunter's eyes. She could tell that he had things he wanted to say to her; thoughts that raced through his head, but that were never voiced or communicated. She felt like there was a whole person locked away in there behind those eyes of his, just needing to be broken out of his self-induced cage.

The problem with that was, like anything else, only Daryl held the key to his own freedom. She couldn't force him to want to be cared about; she couldn't bully him into being her friend. She had to just give him time and let him work through his own demons, his own way.

However, that would involve more tact on her part, and she knew she shouldn't have lashed out at him with her temper the other day. That was no way to present him with the opportunity to open up to her. Acting the way she had, she'd only lose him as he drew deeper into himself.

Beth was brought out of her musings by a knock at the front door. The sun had long since gone down, and as she stood up, she glanced at the clock on her stove; 10 o'clock p.m.

Her heart began to race. It was Carol, it had to be. No one else would come to her cabin so late at night without a phone call; and she was pretty sure that after Saturday afternoon, Daryl in particular wouldn't be coming to her cabin ever again.

A thousand terrible scenarios ran through her head as she jogged across her front room to get the door, and none of them were pretty. Carol had insisted that even at his most angry, Ed had never laid a hand on Sophia; Beth could only hope that hadn't changed.

She unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door wide open, momentarily taken aback when she realized that the figure standing on her welcome mat was a man.

The smell of his cologne is what hit her first- the tangy, spicy scent of Kenneth Cole. In an instant, she was transported back to Chicago, to a masculine well-decorated apartment on the 16th floor with a black leather couch, dark stained concrete countertops, and an entire kitchen cabinet dedicated to an assortment of top-shelf bottles of liquor.

Rather than taking her on a stroll through memory lane, though, the cologne sent her scrambling down the dark, seedy back-alleys of the past; a place she thought she'd left behind forever.

Beth looked up into the face of the man standing patiently with one arm leaned on her door jam. His jaw was clean-shaven and chiseled, and his hair wavy and messy, but in a windblown way that looked like he'd just stepped off of the beach. His full lips were curled up in a familiar smile, and his light brown eyes twinkled at her as they watched her take him all in. To anyone else, he probably looked charmingly handsome; the boy next door, with his golden-tipped hair and dimpled cheeks.

Beth felt more like she'd been doused in cold gasoline and he was holding a lighter.

"Zach," she whispered; her voice small and barely audible. Her throat had constricted in fear, and she felt a shudder run through her.

Here. He was _here_. On her doorstep.

She jerked out of her daze and grabbed her door, trying to slam it closed between them, but he was faster. He launched himself off of the door frame and rammed his shoulder into her door, knocking it out of her grip and sending it crashing into the wall. He grabbed her shoulder, pushing his thumb into the junction between her collarbone and her throat as he entered her house and slammed the door behind him with his foot.

"That's no way to treat an old friend, is it Bethy?" he crooned at her.

"We're not friends," she hissed at him, feeling the burn of tears in the backs of her eyes.

How had he found her? Nothing was in her name, not the cabin or the utilities; she'd sold her car. There was nothing left of her to find down here. Yet, here he stood, like a nightmare summoned to drag her back into the depths of hell with him.

"We were more than that once, though, don't you remember?" he asked, smiling at her. His kind demeanor was more terrifying to her than if he'd been angry.

She felt her skin crawling at the contact of his skin against hers, so she jerked away from him, removing his hand from her shoulder. He let her, only looking away for a second so that he could bolt her door, before looking back at her with that insane smile, like he was so, so happy to see her.

"What do you want, Zach?" she asked, surprised at how brave her voice sounded; she felt like she was on the verge of pissing herself.

"Can't I just want to see you?" he asked, faking a hurt tone in his voice. "Isn't it nice that I just wanted to come and see how you were doing? After all, you left Chicago so suddenly. No phone call, not even a _letter_. I was pretty hurt, Bethy. Pretty hurt."

He took a few slow steps, like he was circling prey, herding her away from the door; away from the exit and the possibility of escaping him. He kept his eyes on her, and though he had a smile on his face, his brown eyes were so light and feverish that they seemed almost yellow; they looked hungry.

Reaching into a pocket inside of his jacket, Zach slowly pulled out a folded white envelope that looked like it had been handled quite a bit. It was crinkled and worn in places like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times. She looked back at him as she stepped backwards; she took a step back, he took a step forward, remaining within reaching distance. Cat and mouse.

Predator and prey.

The psycho and his victim.

"I was shocked when I found this, though," he told her, not breaking eye contact. "Do you know what this is?"

Beth stayed frozen, trying not to move too quickly, lest he leap at her like a fox after a rabbit. She didn't bother to shake her head. He didn't care if she answered; he'd tell her anyway. It was part of his game.

"Your last paycheck," he said, and Beth felt her blood run cold. Of course. He'd been checking her mailbox the whole time she was gone, keeping an eye out for anything that might lead back to her. She'd bet her left leg that her new address was printed somewhere on that damn last check, even though they sent it to her Chicago apartment.

"You know what I find so strange about this?" he asked, waving the envelope in question back and forth near his face, slowly. "This _job_ of yours supposedly meant so much to you. Remember?"

He stepped forward, she stepped back. She had to keep as much distance between them as possible until she could think of an exit strategy. Her brain was muddled with her fear, though, and her limbs felt like mush; her lungs were compressed from terror. She was on the verge of a panic attack, she could feel it. And even if she had the air in her lungs to scream with, it would have been useless. No one was around to hear her, and they both knew it.

"Do you remember how much you loved this job, Bethy?" he asked. "You loved it more than you loved me, that's for sure. This is what caused all of the fighting. All that anger and pain, just because you couldn't take a break and put me as a priority."

He kept speaking to her gently, calmly; shaking his head like he was sad at their turn of events. She imagined that he'd been waiting a long time for this, though. He was probably psychotically giddy on the inside at having such an opportunity to get back at her.

"You couldn't just love me the way I deserve to be loved," he whispered. "You couldn't be there for me; you were always working. Or out with your friends. Or calling home to your family. You never made _time_ for me, Beth."

"I made time for you," she said, just as quietly. "I paid plenty of attention to you, before I realized how crazy you were. You tried alienating me from everyone that-"

"Alienating?!" he shouted suddenly, making her flinch. "Is that was being with me felt like to you? Alienating? We were supposed to be partners, Bethy. We were supposed to be each other's everything. You just wouldn't make enough room for me. And now you're going to stand here and accuse me of being alienating? Of being crazy?"

He sneered at her and flung the envelope at her face. It caught a current and whipped past her, spinning and fluttering to the ground.

"And yet, after all of that, after defending your job and refusing to be with me; choosing your work over ME!" he shouted, stepping toward her. "After all of that, you just… get fired? I guess your job wasn't as important to you down here, was it? Is there something else in this shithole that is more important to you than your job? More important than me?"

He took another step closer, and she stepped back, panicking as her butt pressed against the wall to her kitchen. She thought she'd been over to the left a couple more feet.

Taking his opportunity, Zach lunged forward, slamming both of his hands on the wall on either side of her head. "Answer me!" he screamed in her face.

The line she was toeing now was wire-thin. To admit that there was nothing more important would give him the wrong impression; it could send him the message that she did miss him. He was demented enough to really believe it. But to admit that there were more important things, like how she missed a few days here and there hanging out with new friends, selling her car, helping Daryl; that would just set him off.

"There's nothing more to it," she said, her traitorous tears blurring his face as she glared up at him. "I just got fired, okay? That's all there is to the story."

Still leaned on the wall in front of her with one hand, Zach reached his other one over and fingered the small tree pendant at her throat. He traced his finger up and down the delicate silver chain, causing her to tremble in disgust under his touch. The breath hitched in her throat as his eyes wandered over her.

"There's more to the story," he said thickly. "There's someone else, isn't there? Have you been unfaithful, Bethy?"

"We aren't together, Zach," she said slowly. "I'm not your Bethy anymore."

His eyes flicked up to hers and his hand ceased its movement, gently poised right over her throat. He smiled then, a cold, malicious twist of his lips, and he began running his thumb up and down the front of her neck, right under her chin.

She knew that this incident wouldn't be like the others; he wouldn't hit her a few times and then regret it. He wouldn't be remorseful or pitiful, or apologetic. Zach looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself; no temper, no alcohol. Just Zach and his revenge over his dead, broken heart.

Beth lunged to the left, breaking out of his grasp and clearing the wall so that she could make a run for the knife block in her kitchen. The flurry of motion set him off, though, and then there were no more games. He moved when she moved, and before she could get more than four steps into the kitchen, he'd grabbed her ponytail and jerked her off of her feet.

She fell backwards, throwing her arms out to catch herself on something, but only managing to knock a kitchen chair over after slamming her forearm into it. He directed a quick jab to her ribcage before she could scramble back out of his reach.

Beth gasped, but with the adrenaline surging through her veins, she hadn't quite felt the pain as much as the shock of realizing her worst nightmare becoming reality. She rushed under the table on all fours, knowing it was a ridiculous means of escaping, but beyond the point of truly rational thought.

Ever one for terrorizing, instead of heading around the table to cut her off, Zach followed her on all fours underneath, grabbing at her ankle as she cleared the table top and began running. Cut short, she fell back to her knees, but then lashed her other foot backwards, catching him in the nose. He yelled in pain, releasing her. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed a chair, swinging it at him as he emerged from under the table gripping his bloodied nose. The chair cracked on impact and a couple of pieces splintered off and went flying.

"Fucking BITCH!" he screamed, launching himself at her again. She managed to duck out of the way, running around to the front room again. She reached the front door, but the second it took her to pause and grab for the lock, he was on her. He tackled her and they both fell to the ground, where he proceeded to punch her a number of times. She used her free arm to swipe at him, and left four gouge marks in his face where her nails raked him. He fell off of her, clutching his cheek, his features twisted in an insane snarl.

She ran from him again, and as he was making another grab at her, she feinted left at her back door, but then ducked under his outstretched arms and scampered to the right, throwing herself into her bedroom. She slammed the door and pushed the lock button on the knob right as his weight collided into the wood from the other side.

"You can't hide in there forever, you little bitch!" he screamed at her as he rammed his body weight against the door. She ran to her bedroom window and began tugging on it, trying to get it open wide enough for her to slip through. If she could get a head start, she might be able to lose him in the woods.

But winter was upon them, and the evening frost had caused her window to stick. It wouldn't budge. Panicking, she ran around her room in a circle, trying to think, trying to figure out what to do. If he heard the glass breaking, he'd probably just circle around to the window and get in that way. Her only chance was holding him off and waiting for help.

She pulled her nightstand over and braced it in front of the door as she heard the wood of her trim beginning to crack; he was still kicking and shoving at her door like a lunatic. If she'd been in a modern house, the door probably would have already given way, and she was thankful that the cabin was sturdy; its doors thick and heavy.

She grabbed her house phone and dialed 911.

A female operator picked up after only one ring, "911, what's your emergency?"

"He found me," Beth blurted out, unable to form the necessary coherent words to tell the operator what was going on. There wasn't time. "I need you to send someone! He's trying to get into my bedroom right now!"

"What is your address?" the operator asked calmly.

After telling the operator where she lived, she took a moment to silently curse her old job for their outstanding up-to-date record-keeping. Then, the operator responded, "I have notified a unit and they're on their way. They'll be about 7 to 10 minutes. Stay on the phone with me, okay?"

That wasn't fast enough, Beth realized. They were going to be too late. In another ten minutes she'd just need a body bag, especially if Zach could hear what she was doing.

Without thinking about it, she slammed her hand down on the plunger of her ancient phone to disconnect her call with the 911 operator, and then swiftly dialed a number she shouldn't have known by heart, but did anyway. She'd dialed him a number of times after he'd left his business card with his cell phone number on it at the diner that one day, but she'd always hung up before the call connected. Daryl didn't even like talking to her in person half of the time; she knew he wouldn't want to converse with her over the phone at all.

It seemed to ring over and over again for an eternity. Meanwhile, Zach had lost his temper with her resistant door and was practically incoherent on the other side as he screamed and hit it with various objects from her living room.

Finally, she heard _his_ voice come on the line. She inhaled in preparation to tell him everything, but all he said was "Daryl," which was followed by a short beep. It was his voicemail; he hadn't answered. She felt her stomach drop and tears began streaking paths down her face.

Regardless, she clung to her receiver like a lifeline and sobbed into the phone. "Daryl, I need you. He… he found me… I didn't know it was him, and I opened the door… he's in my house," she rambled, sobbing here and there. "He's going to kill me, Daryl, I can see it in his eyes... I need you. I need you so bad right now…" She felt so hopeless.

Brokenly, she whispered, "Daryl, please…"

She prayed he would see her missed call and dial her back, but there was nothing but silence on the other end. If Daryl wasn't there to hear her pleas, then she was as good as dead. The cops would never make it in time. This was it. She was going to die on the floor of her cabin in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to help her.

She laid her head on the wooden floor, dropping the phone next to her, and began to cry silently. She pressed her other hand over her ear to try and block out the terrible sounds of Zach doing his best to break through her door.

Finally, there was a loud snap as the wood around her lock cracked and broke, and the feet of her nightstand squealed along the wooden floor as Zach shoved the little table out of his way.

"No!" she yelled, knocking the receiver out of her way to try and get out of the other side of her bed. He grabbed her ankle and she screamed for the first time, her nails scoring the floorboards as he pulled her out from under the bed.

"You thought a door would stop me, you stupid fucking cunt!" he screamed at her, flinging her into the nightstand. She cried out as she toppled over it, landing on some of the broken glass from her bedside lamp. Clutching her injured arm to her side, she scrambled to her feet and ran into her living room. He caught her by the back of her shirt and used their momentum to swing her sideways like a rag doll. She collided with a glass bookshelf full of movies that she had standing next to her TV. It shattered under her weight, and she landed on her stomach in a shower of glass and DVD cases. She cried out as Zach's knee dug into her spine, the weight of his body pressing her down against the shards; she could feel them cutting her, and embedding in her skin.

"Get off of me!" she shrieked, trying to get her hands out from under her own body so she could lift herself up.

"That's no way to treat your long-lost lover, is it, Beth?!" he said coldly, pulling one of her own kitchen knives out from his belt. She screamed in equal parts terror and frustration, unable to get leverage underneath her to even try budging him.

He slid the knife under the waistband of her sweatpants, cutting a bit of her skin in the process, and then jerked the blade upward, slicing right through the fabric cord.

Suddenly, she realized what his intentions were, and she couldn't believe that she hadn't guessed them before. Sure, Zach was mad and hurt by her leaving him, and he wanted to make her pay. But he still thought he was in love with her, too, didn't he? Wasn't that the point of all of this? He was psychotic and just couldn't let go of her.

He intended to rape her before he killed her.

In the seconds she had frozen, he'd managed to tear her pants most of the way off of her. She felt him remove his knee from her spine, but he used one hand grip the back of her neck, and she heard the unmistakable jingling of him undoing his own belt.

She thrashed suddenly, causing his hand to slip from her neck. He managed to fist it in her hair, but she hauled her body sideways underneath his crouched position, not registering the strands of hair ripping from her scalp, as she swung her shin up and caught him right under his balls with it. She crawled away from him as he fell off of her, feeling the sting of glass slicing her exposed legs along the way. She grabbed the wrought iron log poker leaned next to her fireplace, and advanced on him with it.

Just as she swung it at him, though, Zach ducked, blindly lashing out at her with the knife he'd reclaimed. It made a slice along her abdomen, right across her belly button, and in the shock of the moment, Beth released the poker. It sailed through the air and crashed through her living room window.

The cold air came streaming in through the broken pane, as Beth fell onto the floor, clutching her bleeding stomach. She panicked that he'd gutted her, but was too afraid to look at it as she scooted backward away from him. He looked peaked and green from when she had kicked him, but his eyes were wild and he came at her again; bent on destroying her, like a Terminator from the movies.

Beth clenched her teeth and glared up at him as he sat down on her chest, pinning her to the floor. "You don't fucking get it!" he screamed at her as his hands went around her throat.

He shook her, slamming her skull back against the unforgiving floor.

She struggled under him, digging her nails into the flesh on his arms, unable to reach him anywhere else. She had no air, and even the veins underneath his hands pounded in the attempt to transport necessary blood to her brain. He was crushing her neck like an empty water bottle, she realized. At least in his rage, he'd make it quick before he remembered the rest of the plans he'd hatched for her.

As spots of color burst in her vision, she recalled the voice of the last man who'd said that very same thing to her.

"_You don' fuckin' get it_!" Daryl had shouted at her outside of the bar. Only, in his case, she _did_ get it. He loathed his family, and by extension, himself. He thought he wasn't good enough for her, and that he wasn't worth her time or her smiles. She got it, alright; the reason he chased her away.

But now he'd never know. She'd never have the chance to make it right; or the chance to take back what she'd coldly said to him at the grocery store after he'd dropped his armor and shown his vulnerability over the bruise he found hiding on her face. She had kicked him when he was down, and it was one of the very last things she'd regret before she died.

Instead of the snarling face above her, Beth closed her eyes and focused on the shaggy-haired huntsman with the intelligent blue eyes and a penchant for making her want more of him. Her thoughts became thick and groggy, and she felt like she'd been pulled under the surface of a calm lake, suspended in the chilly waters.

She'd never get a chance to tell Daryl she was sorry, she realized sadly, and then she slipped away.

**-The End-**

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**Holy shit, guys, I'm totally just kidding. I know, I know.. it wasn't funny. I'm sorry. There will be more, no worries.. Let me know what you guys thought of this particular chapter. Love it? Hate it?**


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N:(1/6/15) AH! I worked really hard to get this chapter out to you guys at like 2 in the morning, and then never got a notification this morning that it had even been updated. appears to be having technical issues, because a reviewer said she never got a notification, either, and I had never gotten an alert of the review! I've e-mailed their support email and politely told them that it wasn't working. Sorry about that everyone! That sucks. :(**

**A****/N: I am sooo sorry about the joke I pulled on the last chapter. I thought it'd be funny and lighten the mood a bit. I do, sadly, still think it was pretty f****unny. But you have my word that I won't pull a stunt like that again ;)**

**I had a lot of you telling me, "I was going to write you really bad reviews if that was the end! I almost hated you!" Believe me, I'd have deserved it. But all of the reviews were still positive and encouraging, even with a bleak chapter in our midst, and I definitely appreciate that. I laughed at myself a bit while writing that last chapter, because I haven't had an actual home phone since I moved out of my parents' house a decade ago, so I wasn't entirely sure what the button was called that you use to hang up the phone with; sooo I had to look it up. A plunger! Weird.**

**Anyway, as always, thank you for all of the follows, favorites, and especially the reviews. I even had a few people apologize for their grammar at the end because English wasn't their first language- but I think you all did great! Don't sweat it. I also even got called a butt head, which was hilarious. I totally appreciate all of the feedback. Also, such a great review by thePaperPalace: "…you're evil. Pure Evil. And I f*** LOVE it! I'm gunna go find a corner to curl up and cry in now. Goodbye world." I'm glad you all loved the pain. I do, too, guys… I do, too…**

**Since I was mean in the last chapter, I strove to get this one written and posted as soon as I possibly could, so I hope you enjoy it.**

**Alright, guys… are you ready for this?**

**Chapter 13**

Daryl stepped lightly through the trees, placing his feet gently and deliberately, pausing when the doe paused. He was trying his best to be quiet, although all of the dead leaves and twigs covering the ground as fall advanced into winter were making his plight difficult. The doe sniffed the air around her, twitched her ears, and then started off again through the brush. He raised his bow, an arrow already notched, and lined up for the shot. Then he watched as she rubbed against a tree, took one more look at her surroundings, and stuck her head down into a thick pile of leafless brambles. They shook for a second, and a little spotted fawn came hesitantly out to rub against his mother.

Daryl had his finger on the trigger, but released it and swore under his breath. That was almost the cartoon about the little orphaned deer all over again. It was rare that a doe would give birth so far into the colder months; they usually had their fawns in the early summer. This one was apparently an exception, and without her, the little fawn would certainly die.

He reached up and pulled the handkerchief off of his face that had been hiding the white puff of his warm breath. He stood up straight finally, stretching his stiff muscles. The doe twitched her ears in his direction once before taking off the other way like a shot, her fawn following at her feet.

It was pretty cold out, even for November, but the excitement of the hunt usually kept his heart pumping and his body temperature up, so he felt a little sweaty from the handkerchief he'd had tied around the lower half of his face.

_So much for one las' hunt_, he grumped to himself. Legally hunting deer with crossbow was a season that had ended early in October, but since Daryl usually caught himself plenty during a season, and had gotten only one this season, which had gone to waste after he fell into the river, Daryl had chosen to grant himself his own personal extension. To hell with the law, anyway; it wasn't like anyone was going to see him and fine him in this remote part of the woods.

Aside from that, this would be his very last hunt through this particular patch of woods. He hiked back over to his usual campfire spot, feeling antsy about the end of his time there. But it was for the best, he told himself for the hundredth time.

He'd called Ron on Saturday afternoon after his run-in with Beth, and asked for a few days off to handle some personal stuff. Since the shop was back to full-staff, and Daryl had worked plenty of overtime in the weeks that they'd been short-handed, he didn't feel guilty about asking, and Ron was more than happy to oblige.

Monday morning, Daryl had driven the same route as though on his way to work, but instead, spent the morning checking out the handful of apartment complexes that the town offered. They were nothing special, but then, Daryl wasn't used to special, anyway. A cot in an attic was better than living in his da's trashy trailer only a couple of miles away from Beth and the cabin anyhow. So, in the last complex, he'd signed a lease for a small, one-bedroom apartment.

He'd felt kind of ridiculous at his swell of pride when he passed the papers back over to the leasing agent and she'd handed over a set of keys; two for his door locks, and one for his mailbox. It wasn't like he'd never lived on his own before. He was 28, for crying out loud, and had moved out of his da's place at the tender age of 16. Be that as it may, though, any other place he'd lived had been shared by Merle, and on occasion, any number of other men who had nowhere else to go, either.

_This_ place was his. The deposit he'd had to pay seemed unreasonable, but the agent had insisted it was because he didn't have any prior rental history for them to go off of, so he'd handed it over and sucked it up.

He'd gone out and bought a mattress so he'd have somewhere to sleep, but hadn't gotten around to other furniture yet. He figured he would just buy it as he went, since he sure as hell wasn't taking anything out of his da's trailer to use as his own. This was a new place, and he wanted no part of his past encroaching on it. The most important aspect was that he was finally going somewhere; doing something with his life. He enjoyed working at the shop, and he made a decent wage. He didn't want to give that up to run off and act the way he usually did when Merle was around. For the first time ever, he wanted a fresh start.

As he poked a stick and disrupted the logs he'd made a fire with, his thoughts traveled along his well-worn hunting path to the cabin and its only occupant; Beth.

He hated admitting it to himself, but he knew she was the reason for his change. He would never be a different person; he'd never just wake up one day and be the kind of guy who could socialize with people easily or find happiness in simple things. He was too far gone for that; too cynical and damaged. But Beth did make him want to _try_ to be better, at least. All of her hope and optimism had rubbed off onto him minutely, and he'd realized that wasting away in his da's trailer amid the horrors of his childhood wasn't doing him any good. So he took action, and landed himself an apartment. She'd probably never know it, but he had her to thank for that.

The more he thought about it, though, the more he wanted her to know. Even though he still didn't think they really belonged together as anything more than two strangers on a sidewalk, he still wanted her to _know_ that she hadn't failed him; that she'd done something good for him, even if it didn't seem like much.

He stood, kicking dirt onto his small fire, snuffing it out. The forest was still awake even though the sun had long since set. He used his flashlight to tread over the dark obstacles in his path, picking his way through the familiar forest silently.

As he got closer to her cabin, he could see that the lights were still on. He wished he'd remembered to bring his phone with him; ever since the night in the river, he'd tried to make it a habit to have his phone on him in silent mode, just in case. But having a phone had never been a huge necessity for him, since he'd gone through large gaps of time when having a phone wasn't even in the budget for him or Merle. So it had just never become a habit to carry one from day to day, and especially not while he was out hunting.

Since it was still lying on his kitchen table, though, he had no idea what time it really was. He figured he'd probably be bothering her, but he felt like he just needed a couple of minutes of her time. He'd knock on her door, notify her that he was moving, and then get a good look at her one last time before he left and never saw her again. Maybe he'd also grow the balls to thank her, or apologize, or at least not be such an asshole to her. It seemed simple enough, innocent enough, but his heartbeat sped up as he approached her cabin.

As he made his way across her side yard, though, the clouds parted, and he saw the moon reflect off of a shiny little black car in the driveway behind her Jeep. She had company, he realized, suddenly feeling stupid. He stopped walking and then turned around, heading back toward the tree line, hoping he could make it back to his path before either of them looked out of one of her windows and spotted him walking through her yard like a creepy stalker.

He heard a raised voice, and paused to glance back at the cabin. It had sounded like a man; was she seeing someone already?

He stamped the idea down, reminding himself that who she was seeing wasn't his business. Plus, it was certainly what he'd wanted for her; to move on and find someone else to focus her charms on. Wasn't it? He didn't fucking know what to think.

Feeling even more foolish than before, he folded himself back into the darkness of the forest; he intended to put as much distance between himself and Beth Greene as possible before he made a complete ass out of himself as his parting gift to her.

Just then, the sound of shattering glass overtook the noises in the forest, and he turned in time to see something spiraling toward the ground, having gone through her living room window. A dark feeling twisted his gut, and Daryl swung his crossbow out in front of him, finger on the trigger. He crouched low, silently darting across her backyard, until he reached her cabin. He leaned his back against the side of the house as he slid his way toward her broken window.

"You don't fucking get it!" he heard a man scream; he sounded pissed. Daryl didn't hear if Beth had responded, but it didn't matter to him. Beth wasn't the type of girl to get into a screaming match that escalated into throwing things; it was beneath her. Besides that, something deep down inside of him was telling him that something was very wrong.

Daryl always listened to his gut; it'd saved his and Merle's lives more times than he'd care to admit.

Beth's porch in front didn't wrap all the way around to the back; there was only the narrow staircase leading to the back door that he'd collapsed on not so long ago. Quietly, Daryl took the steps two at a time and gently tried the handle on her back door. It was locked.

He was about to break and enter; he knew that it could go down really bad for him if this ended up being nothing. His gut, meanwhile, screamed for him to get his ass in gear, so he didn't contemplate his actions any further than that. He looked around for something to stand on, and spotted a large flat stump that was used as a base for chopping firewood further out into her yard. He grabbed the stump and pulled it until it was directly underneath her broken window. He climbed up and looked through the opening, but didn't immediately see Beth or her mystery guest anywhere.

Daryl's eyes settled on the condition of her living room, though, focusing on the knocked over furniture and broken glass all over the floor. Immediately, he used his elbow to finish busting out the few shards of glass still clinging in the window, and then hoisted himself through as quietly as possible.

Once inside, he swung his crossbow back in front of him. He tried to control his breathing and keep it even, but there were smears of blood across the floor where someone had crawled, or been dragged, from the pile of glass. A torn pair of women's sweatpants lay in a crumpled heap near the TV stand. His heart was in his throat, and every muscle in his body was poised to attack.

Even as prepared as he thought himself to be, the image that met his eyes as he turned the corner to Beth's front room was one that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

A man was crouched on top of a prone figure, the shapely legs coming out from under him were bent like they'd been struggling to get him off, but then had gone limp. He had his hands wrapped around her neck, and nail marks crisscrossed his forearms.

Beth's face, purpling at the lips, eyes rolled back in her head was the last thing Daryl saw before he squeezed his finger on the trigger. At the last second, a piece of glass crunched under his sloppy footwork, and the monster on top of her sat up suddenly. The expression on his face turned from furious to shock as the arrow pierced his shoulder, throwing him backwards off of Beth's battered body.

Daryl wasted no time with reloading, instead choosing to just charge forward. As he reached the asshole, Daryl swung his crossbow in an upward arc, catching the man under the chin and sending his head snapping backwards. Blood sprayed out in the same trajectory as his face, and as soon as he landed on the floor on his back, Daryl was on top of him.

He sat on the man's chest and hit him. Daryl hit him over and over again until his knuckles broke open, until the bastard quit yelling, until he quit struggling; until he quit twitching.

Finally, Daryl sat back on his heels, realizing that he'd lost track of his sanity. The guy's nose was a bloody pulp in the rest of his ruined face. Teeth were scattered on the floor next to them, one tooth was punctured right through the fucker's bottom lip. Still, Daryl felt no comfort.

He fell off of the man, not bothering to check if he was dead. He didn't give a fuck if he was or not. He turned to look at Beth's broken body; she hadn't so much as moved a muscle since he found her.

Crawling over to her, Daryl could feel himself cracking apart from the inside out. She was in nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of bright pink panties. Her shirt, like the rest of her, was smeared with blood. Crimson was also trickling out of her nose and mouth, and a thousand tiny little cuts marred her exposed flesh.

"Beth," he whispered at her, unable to raise his voice any louder. She began to blur and he wiped the tears out of his eyes. He leaned over her, putting his hand near her mouth to see if she was breathing. He needed her to be breathing; there was no other conceivable option in this life for him. She had to be alive.

"Please, Beth, please be breathin'," he whispered, cursing himself as his hands shook; unable to concentrate on the task at hand. Finally, he felt the faintest puff of air on the sensitive skin of the back of his hand, and he let out a choked sob, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

He crawled on the floor to sit by her head, running his fingers along her neck gently to see if he could feel anything broken. The skin ringing her neck was already purple and black, and he wanted to destroy the son of a bitch all over again. Her head was bent at kind of a weird angle, so when he didn't feel anything sticking out, he adjusted her gently. Beth pulled in a long, ragged breath of air, wheezing at the effort.

Daryl's panic tripled, along with his despair; that fucker had crushed her throat.

He was afraid to move her with a neck injury, so he got up and ran to her kitchen to look for a phone. He spotted one plugged in near the stove and picked it up, but it had a busy signal. Another phone in the house must've been off the hook somewhere.

"Fuck," he gritted, feeling his sanity slipping, "FUCK!" He jerked the phone out of the wall and threw it across the kitchen. He gripped his hair in fists, spinning in circles, looking for a cell phone; something, anything.

Then an idea struck him and he ran back into the front room, rifling through the pockets of the asshole whose face he'd ruined; whose _life_ Daryl would ruin if the prick dared to still be alive.

Finally, he found a phone, and with shaking, bloodied fingers, he dialed 911 and scooted back over to Beth.

The operator answered on the second ring, "911, what is your emergency?"

"I need 'n ambulance," Daryl said thickly. He opened his mouth to say more, but the words lodged in his throat as he ran his fingers down her swelling cheek. He felt his face crumple, and he raised his face up to the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"We can have an ambulance sent out to you, sir. What is your location?" the older woman asked.

Clearing his throat, Daryl answered, "I… I don't know tha address. It's a small cabin, righ' offa highway 80 an' Walker Way. You needta send someone now," he said, rocking back on his heels.

He could vaguely hear the operator as she tried talking to him from the other end of the phone. All he could focus on were the finger marks on Beth's arm, and the bruising on her throat and face. The asshole's skin was still under her fingernails. Her lip was broken open, and there was a lot of blood on the front of her shirt. He lifted it up gingerly with a couple of fingers, and saw the large horizontal slice across her abdomen. His stomach threatened to empty as he let go of her shirt and closed his eyes.

Daryl squeezed the cell phone in one hand, pulling it away from his face; vaguely aware that the operator was trying to get him to respond to her. He held the phone behind his head as he sat heavily down on his ass and put his head between his knees. He felt like he was going to black out. He was panicking; fucking losing his shit.

Then, as Beth twitched and began to stir, he dropped the phone and leaned over her.

"Beth," he said hoarsely, putting his hand gently on her chest over her collar bones. "Don' move, a'right? Help is comin', hear me? They're on their way."

When her eyelids fluttered open, he felt a new wave of anguish. Her blue eyes were bright in pain, and surrounding her irises, where the whites of her eyes should have been, it was entirely pink with broken blood vessels. He put both of his hands on the sides of her face as she stared up at him; he couldn't tell if she even knew who he was, or if she could register what had happened to her. She stared up blankly and didn't react when his teardrops fell onto her face.

"You're gonna be fine, y'hear me?" he told her roughly, waiting for a reaction from her; a smile, a sob, tears; anything would have been better than her empty stare. She wheezed every time she pulled air into her lungs, and after a few seconds, her eyes fluttered back closed and she was limp again.

"No, no, no," he whined, pressing her tiny hand against his face, wishing for all the world he could just crush her to him and make her be okay. Even if she hated him again; even if they parted ways and were nothing, even if he never laid eyes on her again for the rest of their lives… anything was better than this.

Suddenly, he noticed red and blue lights streaming in through her front window. He exhaled in relief, leaning over to press his forehead against hers. "They're here, Beth," he breathed against her lips. "They've come t'save you."

Her front door burst open and police swarmed in with their guns drawn. Daryl's relief quickly turned to anger as he was rushed and grabbed. They hauled him away from Beth, wrestling him to the floor on his stomach.

"Wha' the fuck are you doin'?!" He shouted, twisting in their grip. Another officer jumped into the fray at Daryl's unwillingness to cooperate, and he felt a boot pin him down at the back of his neck. The other two managed to get the cold cuffs around his wrists.

"Get the fuck offa me!" Daryl roared as they hauled him up, kicking out at one of the officers. After that one jumped out of his way, Sheriff's Deputy Shane Walsh took his place in Daryl's face, teeth bared and everything.

Daryl hated him with a goddamn passion. Shane had always been an asshole, even when they were kids; but then he went and got his badge and decided he was going to be an asshole for a living. There was good cop, bad cop, and then there was Shane fucking Walsh.

"Motherfucker," Daryl spat at him, straining against the officer who had him from behind. "Get these fuckin' cuffs offa me, NOW!"

"Like hell, you _sick fuck_," Shane hissed back at him. "I can't wait to put your fuckin' loser ass away for a long ass time."

"I ain't tha one tha' hurt her, damnit! I'd never fuckin' touch her!" Daryl yelled as they began hauling him out of her front door. He struggled to catch a glimpse of Beth as he was being yanked backwards, but there were too many uniforms surrounding her.

As he got into the yard, the ambulance finally pulled up, medics swarming out with their stretcher and medical supplies. Daryl was jerked roughly back towards the police cruisers.

"You have the right to remain silent," Shane said, gloating at him as he got in his line of vision. "Anything you say or do can, and _will_, be held against you in the court of law."

"Fuck you," Daryl said, straining to look passed him and keep an eye on Beth's porch.

"You have the right to an attorney," Shane continued, humored by Daryl's distress, "if you cannot afford an attorney, which I'm sure is the case, one will be appointed to you."

Finally, the EMTs emerged from Beth's cabin, two of them lifting the stretcher and walking backwards to get it down the steps of the front porch. Beth was strapped to it, a sheet covering her legs, and a brace around her neck. She still looked to be unconscious, but their haste was a good sign that she was still alive.

After Shane had finished reading Daryl his Miranda rights, the last of which he ignored, Shane swung the door open to his squad car and fisted Daryl's hair to push him into it.

Daryl watched as the doors to the ambulance slammed closed. They peeled out of the front yard with their sirens blaring just as a second one pulled up. He wanted to wait and see if they brought that other fucker out in a body bag, but Shane climbed into the driver's seat and took off with Daryl in the back before he could witness any more.

"Admiring your handiwork back there?" Shane sneered at him.

"I already tol' you, asshole; I ain't the one tha' hurt Beth. It was tha' other fucker."

"Oh, you mean the dude dressed like an accountant with an arrow stickin' out of him, whose face was smashed in?" Shane scoffed at him. "Gimme a break, Dixon. This entire bullshit situation has your trashy family written all over it."

Daryl clenched his jaw in anger, focusing on the monster he'd torn off of Beth. He hoped that asshole was daisy-fodder. Even if Daryl spent the rest of his life in prison for murder, it'd be worth it if the prick never breathed a lung full of fresh air ever again.

"Go fuck yourself, Walsh," he said without emotion, leaning his forehead against the window.

All he could see when he closed his eyes was Beth's tiny body crumpled on the floor, blood seeping out of the wounds covering her body; her beautiful blonde hair even matted in the stuff. Her blank, bloodshot eyes and the bruises on her arm where fingers had dug into her skin.

The torn sweatpants in the living room.

The streaks of blood where she'd either crawled or been dragged away from the glass littering the floor.

Her split lip, the skin under her nails.

The memory of that animal poised on top of her with his hands around her throat.

Pitching forward, Daryl vomited all over the floor in the back of Shane's police cruiser.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!" Shane yelled from the front, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. "Are you fucking loaded, or what, asshole?!"

Daryl slid down in the seat until he was laying across the back, his face pressed into the cold leather. He felt like he was freezing and he'd broken out into a cold sweat; it trickled down his face and neck, soaking his hair. He began to tremble and as he stared at the back of the passenger side seat, his vision went black. Shane's angry cursing was drowned out by a roaring in Daryl's ears; he felt like they were bleeding.

Finally, the car stopped, and Daryl was dizzy and off-kilter, like the ground was teeter-tottering, even though he could feel the entire front of his body still firmly pressed against the car seat.

The door opened, flooding the space around him with frigid air, and voices wavered in and out of his hearing.

"…on some kind of drugs or somethin'," Shane was saying.

The other voice, an older man, said, "Nah. Looks as though he's in shock. Let's get'em inside 'fore he collapses. I ain't carrying that prick; he looks heavy."

Daryl felt himself being dragged backwards by his ankles. Once they had his legs out, he felt hands trying to pull him into an upright position. The only thing in front of his eyes was blackness, though, and he could hardly focus on anything but the roaring in his ears and the trembling of his bones.

His legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the pavement. His last coherent thought was of Beth; the way she'd looked down at him that night in the bar after her last toast, her face filled with trust and compassion; her bright blue eyes boring into his like they were the only two people left in the world.

Without her, he would be the only person left standing; cursed to wander the earth alone, untouched, and unseen, like a black, shapeless wraith.

As he finally lost consciousness, he sent a final plea out to the universe. It could do what it wanted to him; but it had to deliver Beth back to safety. She had to live, or he felt that the whole world would come crashing down around him.

At that, the blackness emerged from the depths of his consciousness, and swallowed him whole.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: So, in the last chapter, I really struggled because I didn't want to portray Daryl out-of-character. Nothing sucks more than going along in a story, reading about characters that you're already intimately familiar with, [like we all haven't slept with Daryl Dixon in one nighttime jaunt or another, come on ;)] and then feel the story come to a screeching-ass halt because all of a sudden, something so ridiculously outlandish happens that the character reacts equally as ridiculous to, and then you're left going, "Pfft.. like THAT would ever happen.. He'd NEVER do that!" …It just sucks. So in the last chapter, I warred with whether Daryl would just be livid and angry and throwing shit around.. maybe. Totally plausible. Would he break down? I wasn't so sure. But I really re-evaluated how his character had already developed so much on the show by the time Merle got himself turned into a walker that Daryl had to put down.. and in that episode, he definitely lost his shit. And it was because Merle was his brother; he cared about him, and he was a big part of Daryl's life, even if he wasn't always a good influence on him. I felt like Beth already fit that criteria for this story; she's already wormed her way under Daryl's skin, gotten into his head, and has him re-evaluating his whole life. He cares about her, even though he hasn't been ready to admit it. So would he break if he found her in a position like that? Then I knew my answer; it was yes. Yes, he would. So I hope none of you felt like Daryl was too over the top with his emotions, or out of character. I used a lot of the imagery from Merle's death episode to really get the feel for the chapter, the crying and falling over was all part of Daryl's reaction in the show. Therefore, I felt like his reaction in the last chapter was a natural progression and justified to the extent of the situation. Anyway, that's all =)**

**Loooving all of the reviews. I'm glad you're all as stressed out by this as much as I am. But, even better news is: I totally had another brainstorm late last night and came up with more material, so… this is definitely not nearing the end. I have a lot of other stuff from the show that I want to slip into this thing one way or another. It's going to get crazy. Hopefully to your liking, though.**

**Thank you to all of my followers, favoriters, and reviewers. You're the only reason I've tried as hard as I have. This is my first fanfiction, but I have an original book I've been working on for years that I've been too fearful to finish or send to anyone; but a lot of you have commented on how much you love the way I write, and I feel like it's given me such a confidence boost that when I'm done with this story, I'm going back to my original work and attempting to get published. I'll definitely let you guys know if I do that because I think it'd be right down your alley. I'm a sucker for tortured, broken protagonists.**

**Lastly, the person I dedicated chapter 12 to e-mailed me afterward and was like "I get the violent rape chapter dedicated to me?!" Jeez, you're so sensitive, J. So, fine, I'm dedicating the LAST chapter to you, the one where Daryl saves the day like Spiderman. How's that? You picky asshole. 3**

**Anyway, sorry for the long note! Onward to…**

**Chapter 14**

She was breathing fire.

Every breath she pulled in, the oxygen burned its way down her throat like it had been ignited. All around her, strange noises poked at her consciousness; mechanical beeps and whirs and drips prodded her further out of her blackness. She felt like she was rising up through a body of water, everything around her getting lighter and lighter. Just before she broke the surface, she lingered, and two pale blue eyes swam up in her view while sad, broken voices echoed all around her.

"_They've come t'save you. You're gonna be fine, y'hear me? They're here, Beth. They've come t'save you. They've come t'save you. You're gonna be fine. They're here, Beth. Beth. Y'hear me? They've come t'save you. Beth. You're gonna be fine…_"

Her eyelids twitched; they felt heavy and bruised, and she had a hard time getting them open. When she finally did, everything was pitch-black, until the darkness receded and her surroundings came into focus. She was staring up at a ceiling. The fluorescent lights above were oddly dim; the corked panels that made up the ceiling were a shade of off-white, some rectangles stained beige in the corners from prior water damage.

Beth began to turn her head to the side, but an intense pain shot up and down her neck, causing her to cry out. When she did, her voice was nothing but a muffled croak, and even that small noise felt as though she had shards of glass scraping the inside of her windpipe. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling the smooth plastic of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. She tried to swallow, but winced at the sensation; a tube was going all the way down her throat.

She raised her arm up slowly, getting a feel for the rest of her stiff body; eying the IV drip embedded in her wrist. She looked around at what she could see with just her eyes; even if there hadn't been pain in her neck, the brace around it would have kept her from moving her head too far from side to side. To her left was a cart with an IV strung to it, dripping clear liquid into the tube leading down to her wrist. Behind it was a collection of monitors, all humming and beeping, every wire leading to her. Beyond that was a large window with the curtains drawn. Through the cracks, she could tell it was dark outside.

Beth closed her eyes again, willing herself to regain her bearings. Why on earth was she in a hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines?

The last thing she remembered was driving home from Sasha's diner on Tuesday afternoon. After that, her memory drew a complete blank. Any more than that, and it just felt like she was walking into a dark closet with no windows; she was grasping blindly for some sliver of memory, but nothing was there to find.

Had she gotten into an accident? The weather had been getting a lot colder, with threats of sleeting and freezing in the forecast. She remembered planning to grocery shop and stock up in case she got stranded in the cabin; she was sure that she'd never made it that far, though. Surely she wouldn't have gotten so injured in her Jeep; it was sturdy and had roll-bars and everything.

Opening her eyes, she scanned what she could see of the room on the other side of her bed, and was shocked to find that the table next to her was covered in flower arrangements, balloons, and a couple of stuffed animals.

Just how long had she been there?

Her whole body was sore, but she was thankful that she seemed to be able to move her feet and legs; nothing seemed too worse for wear, except for her neck and chest. Breathing was painful, and the sensation of air entering and leaving her body without her effort was uncomfortable and strange.

Just then, the door to the hallway opened up, causing her to squint against the brightness.

"You're awake," a nurse said, walking over to peer down at her. "Your family will be relieved."

She smiled courteously, marking down a couple of things on Beth's chart and checking her watch to note the time. "Before you get back to resting, there are a couple of Sheriff's Deputies who need to ask you a few questions about what happened. We tried to tell them that it wasn't the time for that yet, but they insisted that it was a matter of urgency. Do you feel up to that?"

Beth frowned; why would Sheriff's Deputies need to speak to her? Had she hurt someone else in the accident? She panicked slightly, trying to remember what happened after she left the diner; had she picked someone up? Was there another person in the car with her when it crashed?

With Beth unable to answer anyway, the nurse turned and left the room, not bothering to offer her any explanations whatsoever as to why she was there. Beth tried focusing on the clock hanging from the wall by her door. She thought it said 5:14, but it was definitely dark outside. So, it had to be 5 in the morning; and the nurse was getting the deputies _right_ _now_?

Beth was a strange mixture of exhausted and antsy; her mind and body at odds with each other.

Not too much time passed before Rick Grimes entered Beth's room looking groggy and disheveled. He was wearing his brown uniform pants, but the shirt he had on was a plain white undershirt. His hair was messy like he'd just woken up.

The fact that he'd been asleep at 5 a.m. didn't surprise Beth; it was the speed in which he got to her room. Not more than a few minutes could've passed since the nurse left to get him. Was he sleeping at the hospital?

Her blood ran cold as another thought hit her. Had _Lori_ been in the car with her?

Rick walked over to her bedside, smiling at her kindly. It wasn't the expression of a man whose wife was lying in a hospital bed, and Beth felt a glimmer of hope.

He glanced up at her monitor, noting the increase in her heartbeat. He paused a few feet from her bed, holding his hands up. When he looked back at her, he seemed different suddenly.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Beth," he said gently. "You don't have anything to fear from me, okay?"

She frowned at him; why on earth would she think he'd mean her harm?

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked carefully, noting her confused expression.

By force of habit, she jerked her head in an attempt to shake it at him, but as soon as she used the muscles in her neck, more pain radiated throughout it. She made a sound that was like a weird gargle, even to her own ears. With a tube down her throat, though, she didn't have a good range of motion on either her neck, or her involuntary noises.

Rick, a step ahead of her dilemma, slowly grabbed a pad of paper and a pen out from the drawer next to her bed. He wrote on the spiral and then stepped closer and held it within reach of her. She looked at the pad; he'd drawn two large boxes on it. The one on the right contained the word "NO" and the left contained the word "YES."

Looking back at him, she awaited his first question.

"Do you think this will work alright?" He asked.

She raised her sore arm and tapped her finger on YES.

"Do you feel up to some questioning right now?"

YES.

"Thank you," he told her genuinely, smiling down at her. "Do you remember what happened?"

NO.

Nodding, he rubbed his thumb on the paper uncomfortably. "Okay, we'll ease into it then. To be honest, Beth, no one is quite sure what happened to you, either."

She frowned. How could they not know what had happened to her?

His eyes lit up in alarm at a new idea and he blurted out, "Do you remember who you are?"

YES.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good… that's good. The doctors said they didn't know how much damage to expect; you came in with a pretty severe concussion."

Rick grabbed the chair near the door and scooted it over to sit in it, propping the spiral up on a spare pillow so that Beth was more comfortable tapping it without her hand being in the air. She was thankful for that; she was so weak that even holding her arm up had been draining her energy.

"You were at your cabin when we found you," he told her. "Do you remember being at your cabin?"

_NO._

"Today is Friday," he told her. "We found you around 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday night. Do you remember Tuesday at all?"

_YES_.

"Good," he said, seeming pleased. "If you remember earlier in the day on Tuesday, then your lapse in memory might just be temporary."

She tried to quirk her lips in a smile, but it was too difficult.

"Do you remember having a visitor to your cabin on Tuesday?"

_NO_.

"Was anyone from out of town staying with you at your place?"

_NO_.

"From what you recall, did you talk to Daryl Dixon at all on Tuesday?"

Daryl? What did any of it have to do with Daryl? Then, vaguely, she wondered if she'd foolishly gone out into the woods again and injured herself out there somehow. If Daryl had to put up with her during another one of her shenanigans, he was bound to be pretty displeased with her. Especially after the way she'd treated him in the supermarket on Saturday afternoon.

_NO_.

"Is there any reason Daryl would have to be angry with you?"

She thought back to her low-blow that day in the tampon aisle, and a number of other things she'd done to irritate him over their short time together.

_YES_.

Rick frowned at her answer, eying her intently; she could see that he was choosing his next question carefully. A bad feeling came over her as she stared at the expression on his face.

"Can you think of a reason that Daryl would choose to do you harm?"

Beth scowled at the question. Was he asking if Daryl would _physically_ hurt her?

NO.

Rick nodded at her answer choices, contemplating. "So even if Daryl was very angry at you, or say… jealous. You don't think he would ever try to hurt you?"

NO.

She didn't like where this line of questioning was headed.

Rick wet his lips, seeming nervous at the answers she was providing him. Something was definitely wrong.

She tapped the blank part of the page with her finger to convey that she needed more questions to answer. What he was asking her wasn't making any sense at all.

Finally, he looked her in the eye and asked, "Do you know anyone by the name of Zach Gallner?"

Beth's eyes widened and the blood in her veins ran cold. Momentarily, she forgot Rick was waiting on an answer. The way his expression changed into something darker, she could tell that he could already guess her answer. Determined not to have any confusion between them, though, Beth dutifully tapped her answer onto the paper, although slightly harder than she'd intended.

_YES. YES. YES_.

"Are you and Zach friends?" Rick asked carefully.

_NO. NO. NO_.

"Would Zach have any reason to be angry with you?"

_YES_.

"Do you think Zach would do you harm?"

_YES. YES. YES. YES_.

Rick nodded, and Beth could tell he was trying not to look relieved, but he was failing at it.

"Were you and Zach ever romantically involved?"

_YES_.

"Has Zach ever lost his temper with you before?"

_YES_.

"Has Zach ever turned violent?"

_YES_.

Rick's tone of voice gentled as he put the puzzle pieces together, and Beth could tell that whatever was left for him to ask only needed her answers to confirm what he already suspected.

"Lori had mentioned to me in the past that you'd moved down here rather suddenly and without many possessions. Is Zach the reason you left Chicago?"

_YES_.

Rick nodded, sitting back in his chair, running his hands tiredly down his face. "I knew that was more likely," he said.

At Beth's questioning gaze, he finally decided to catch her up on what the hell was going on.

"On Tuesday night, around 10 p.m., there was a phone call received at the 911 switchboard, from your cabin. In the transcript, you told the operator that 'he found you,' and that he was trying to break into your bedroom. You never said who, though. The operator lost the connection with you, and your line was busy every time they called back. By the time they notified us and we found the damn cabin, well… it was a bloodbath in there. You were beaten and unconscious with Daryl crouched over your body as soon as we entered the house. Zach was unconscious, too. He'd been shot through the shoulder with an arrow from Daryl's crossbow, and he was messed up so bad that he's already undergone two surgeries this week to try and piece his jaw back together. We weren't sure what had happened, but it looked bad for Daryl. We booked him and put him in a holding cell until we could get some answers from somewhere. I didn't think he was capable of hurting you," Rick said, wincing as he prepared for his next words, "but honestly, if I'd come upon a scene like that with complete strangers; it looked like you'd brought a date back to your place and Daryl broke in and attacked you both in a rage. That's what everyone else responding to the scene thought, too."

She tapped NO very pointedly. _NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!_

"I'm still waiting on Zach's prints to come back from the lab to see if he has any priors; as well as the report on the fingerprints lifted from the kitchen knife and the crossbow."

He paused, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're absolutely positive that Daryl wasn't the aggressor, correct?"

_YES_.

"I'd like to release him from jail, then, since he's not our guy. Daryl insisted all along that Zach was choking you when he got there and he was just defending you both. I wanted to think that was the truth. I'm glad to hear my intuition is still sharp," he said, chuckling a bit. "Besides, only minutes before we showed up, there is a transcript of Daryl calling 911 and requesting an ambulance."

_YES_, she tapped. Yes to all of it.

She might not have remembered any of what had happened, but she damn sure knew that if something like that had gone down, then she had Daryl to thank for her life.

Just then, the nurse came back in. "Deputy, are you finished with your questioning? Her medication will wear off soon and we need to get her sedated to prevent further damage to her throat."

"Yeah," Rick said, glancing briefly back at the nurse. He stood, putting his hand in Beth's and lightly squeezing her fingers. "Thank you, Beth. I know this wasn't easy, but you gave me what I needed to set Daryl free. Zach isn't going anywhere for the foreseeable future, and by the time he's well enough to get out of this hospital, I promise you that I'll have a tight case against him. He won't be allowed the chance to do this to you again, or to any other woman."

Beth felt tears swell in her eyes at the seriousness of Rick's face as he stared down at her. She knew Lori's husband was a good man and a great father; it appeared that he was an amazing officer, as well.

"Rest up," he said. "I'll tell Lori and the girls you said hi. They've been itchin' to come sit with you all week. We just couldn't allow it until we'd gotten a statement. Your sister and father are here, too. They'll be back tomorrow morning for visiting hours, I'm sure."

Beth gave him a thumbs up, even though she didn't feel very well, and wasn't really in the mood to have visitors fawning all over her. She loved her sister dearly, and would enjoy seeing her again, but just wished it could be under better circumstances. She'd never quite gone into detail with Maggie about just how psychotic Zach had gotten before she left him. Beth had lied to her whole family and blamed half of the reasoning for her sudden move to an inclination of wanderlust; her big sister hadn't approved of Beth's unusually hyper spirit.

Once Rick had gone, the nurse changed out Beth's urine bag, attaching a new one to her catheter, and checking over all of her various cords, tubes, and IVs to verify they were all in place.

"Alright, Beth. I'm glad to see you're coherent, but I'm going to have to ask the anesthesiologist come in here in a few minutes. Dr. Thurman, your attending physician, has instructed us to put you into a medically induced coma for the next couple of days. During the last CT scan, your throat showed signs of more tearing and inflammation than when you'd gotten out of ICU; probably restlessness caused by your body's irritation with the breathing tube."

Beth grabbed the pad of paper and tapped it a few times so the nurse would look.

_NO_.

"I'm sorry," she said, even though she didn't sound it. "You'll barely notice it. You'll wake up next week and feel a hundred times better. Hopefully at that point we can remove your breathing tube and everything. Dr. Thurman wants to see you make it home by next Thursday."

Beth understood all of that, but she needed something else. She mimicked writing on the page with a pen. Luckily, the nurse caught on, and pulled a pen out of the pocket on her scrubs, handing it over.

Scribbling with her weak, unsteady hand, Beth wrote, "_Give me 5 minutes to write a note_?"

The nurse leaned over to read the sloppy question, but nodded as she straightened up. "Sure thing, sweetheart," she said. "Five minutes. Then I'll be back in here with the anesthesiologist and we'll get going, okay?"

_YES_.

As the nurse left, Beth struggled weakly to rip Rick's questionnaire page out of the spiral so that she had a blank sheet to work with. She was flat on her back still, and could hardly move her upper body, so she knew that attempting to write anything too lengthy would just end up illegible.

As slowly and carefully as possible, she wrote a short note. She carefully ripped that page out too, doing her best not to tear her words. After getting it off, she let go of the spiral and focused her energy on folding the piece of paper. Her throat was beginning to worsen, and she could tell that the nurse's timing on when the pain killers would wear off was nearly spot-on.

Her hands shook with the effort of it, but she finally got the paper folded halfway decently. She picked up the pen one more time, slowly drawing a single name across the front of the paper.

Just as she had finished, the nurse came back into her room followed by a taller man in light colored scrubs.

Beth handed the pen back to her nurse, as the anesthesiologist introduced himself to her and began explaining their next few steps so she would be prepared for it. She gripped the folded note tightly in her hand, laying it onto the bed next to her so that when she went under, the note wouldn't be lost.

As he moved to insert a smaller tube into the plastic oxygen mask strapped to her face, Beth looked up and focused on the stains in the ceiling, and the feel of the paper clenched tight in her fist.

She didn't have the time, the strength, or the energy to dwell on what had happened to her Tuesday night. As her eyelids began to get heavy, she compelled herself to imagine Daryl the way he looked when she'd seen him last. She'd been so angry with him, and hurt, that she'd managed to injure him in return with her callous words.

If everything had gone down the way Rick suspected it had, though, Beth had a lot of reconciliation left ahead of her when it came to Daryl Dixon. Her eyes slid closed, and she imagined his face above her, lanced with fear that she'd never seen on him before, his tears falling onto her face.

"_You're gonna be fine, y'hear me_?" she heard him tell her roughly, his voice cracking. She hated that he sounded so lost; and looked so broken.

_Come into the dark with me_, she coaxed him. _Let's be lost together_.

And then they were.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: Wow, this chapter POURED out. Thank goodness, because it was a lot of shit to cover. **

**After the last chapter, I got a PM from Dixon's Asskicker, asking if I had a FB page for the story; I didn't, so she asked to make one. I thought it was a really cool idea! So, [since this site doesn't like links in our stories,] the page is on Facebook, and it's /groups/896639193700827. I'll post a full link in my bio sometime tomorrow for you guys to get to. Thanks again, Dixon's Asskicker! I'm so honored =D**

**And jeez, if you guys are that into it, maybe I'll have to share a link to my art page at some point later down the road. I'll be getting a table in the Artist's Alley at a horror/sci-fi convention in my city sometime this year, (Emily Kinney and Steven Yuen will be in attendance, along with a lot of other Walking Dead cast members that have been killed off. Joe, Amy, etc. So it should be fun!) so there will be lots of Walking Dead art to look forward to. Hmmm.. ;)**

**The reviews, guys! The reviews! They've all been so wonderful. I love reading about where you guys are when you're catching up on the chapters, too! Some people have been on trains, others have been up all night or late for work the next morning. You all sound like me; we're a mess. 3**

**Anyway, since I've had dozens of great reviews this morning from chapter 14, I am rewarding you with chapter 15, instead of going back to bed and sleeping all day like I really, really wanted ;) I wanted to thank everyone who has followed and favorited myself and the story, as well. You're all awesome and fantastic. I appreciate the love.**

**Alright, are we ready for the beatdown?**

**Chapter 15**

Daryl paced.

It had been days. Three, to be exact. He'd been trapped behind bars for three days.

He couldn't help but think of Merle as he paced back and forth, running his fingers across the bars absentmindedly. Daryl had never been in jail before; Merle had been the one to spend most of his youth in and out of the system. Sometimes, Merle could be a shit brother, but for the most part, he cared about Daryl and what happened to him. Any time some shit had gone down, Merle had always gotten Daryl out of the crossfire and taken the brunt of the punishment onto himself; with cops and criminals alike.

Merle was doing time in the pen currently, for a drug raid on their apartment a few months back. He and Daryl had fought that day, so Daryl had left their tiny, shitty-ass place to go for a walk and cool his temper. When he got around the block and neared the building again, it was covered in SWAT cars and flashing lights. All of the guys that had been crashing at their place were being escorted out in handcuffs, his brother included. Merle had grinned and winked at him right before he was stuffed into the back of a police cruiser and driven off. During the raid, the stash of money Merle had kept hidden in the apartment had been found and seized, and Daryl didn't have a dime leftover for rent. So, he loaded Merle's bike into the back of his truck and took off.

There hadn't been a point in sticking around the area anyway, nor heading over to stay close to the prison Merle had been transferred to. Merle never really cared for Daryl to visit him anyway.

_What're you, my damn momma? I don' need yer pansy little ass in 'ere checkin' up on me like I'm some kinda pussy e'ery time I end up intha pen, y'hear_? Merle had blathered the last time Daryl had gone to visit him during a different stint he'd been doing over car theft. So, Daryl had quit going back.

He'd written a letter to Merle as soon as their dad died, letting him know that he'd be crashing at their da's trailer since he lost their apartment after Merle was hauled off. He'd never heard anything back from him, though.

Now, locked away in a cell the size of a shoebox, Daryl couldn't imagine how his brother had managed to stay sane after so many of his trips to the bullpen. Well, as sane as Merle could be, anyhow.

He continued pacing back and forth across the 5 feet of his cell, occasionally stubbing his slippered toe on the leg of the bed, but never slowing; never sitting. How could he possibly rest anyway?

The one thing truly driving him to the brink of his sanity was the complete and utter absence of any kind of news regarding Beth and her condition. Rick Grimes had taken Daryl's statement in the interrogation room the first morning after the incident had occurred, but then Rick threw the notes of Daryl's account in a folder and whisked out of the room, and Daryl hadn't seen him since.

Three.

Fucking.

Days.

Since the town was somewhat small, they had a couple of holding cells and drunk tanks, but that was all; most of their criminals were shipped a town over until they appeared before a judge or their case went to trial.

Daryl didn't know what to think of the fact that he was still locked away in the cell that was furthest from the front, neither being released, nor being charged with anything more serious than breaking and entering, resisting arrest, and assaulting an officer. He thought "assault" was an exaggeration; all he did was kick the asshole. At least they'd given him that one phone call the next morning, though. He'd used it to phone up to the shop to let Ron know he'd be out until next Monday.

Ron said it was fine, thankfully, but Daryl had the bad feeling that he wouldn't be making it back there by Monday. Once he was booked, he'd be going away for awhile, and everything he'd worked for would be up in smoke; his apartment, his job, his new take on life. But then, that was the luck of a Dixon; couldn't catch a damn break.

Regardless, he hadn't been charged for murder so far, which told him that either Beth and that asshole were both still alive, or Rick and his crew weren't 100% sure that they could effectively pin the whole thing on Daryl quite yet.

At that point, he could care less what happened to him, though. All he wanted was an update on Beth's condition. The first morning, all Rick could tell him was that she was stable, but hadn't regained consciousness yet. He wouldn't go into detail as to what all of her injuries were; no doubt they were going to wait and use that kind of knowledge against him during trial.

But the not knowing was killing him.

As he paced back and forth like an animal caught in a cage, he could feel the tension coiled around his heart like a snake, squeezing, slowly draining him of energy and life. He hadn't realized how much he hated small spaces until he'd found himself trapped in one. It didn't help that he'd probably only managed to accumulate 4 or 5 hours of sleep in the last three days he'd been in there.

Every time he drifted off, he dreamt terrible things that sent him spiraling back into reality; Beth being attacked, Beth being beaten, Beth being mauled by that red beast in the forest. Each time, he couldn't really get to her in the dream. Either his feet were stuck in mud, or he ran so slowly that by the time he'd gone 10 feet, her death had already occurred while he'd watched it happen, cursing himself for not being able to run faster.

The dream he'd had early that morning had been particularly gruesome. Beth had been battered and bruised, but alive, and being held captive in a hospital. He'd gone in to save her, but during a tense stand-off, before he could move to protect her, she'd lashed out at a dark-haired woman in a police uniform, who'd reacted by shooting Beth in the face. The back of Beth's golden blonde head had exploded outward in a shower of blood, brain matter, and skull fragments; all splattering across the front of Daryl, who'd been standing only feet behind her.

He'd shot straight up on the cot that morning, vigorously rubbing his hands all over his chest and face, searching for evidence that it had been real. Even when he found none, he'd been too worked up to try for more sleep.

He finally paused and leaned his forehead between a gap in the bars, letting them cradle his skull for a minute. He was fucking exhausted.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Beth as she had been the night he'd gotten dragged away from her. At that point, he wasn't sure if she'd really been as bad off as he remembered, or if his imagination was torturing him with worse images that were far removed from what she'd actually endured. He really hoped he was making most of it up.

His thoughts kept traveling back to the asshole who'd attacked her, too. If Daryl was going to go down for a crime he didn't commit anyway, then he regretted not killing the fucker outright. Surely, when Beth woke from her coma, she'd set the record straight. He wasn't too worried about that. The idea that the asshole might slip away in the meantime, though, kept Daryl's blood boiling. He didn't want Beth to ever be constantly looking over her shoulder, scared because that prick was loose in the world and might come back for her. Fuck that.

Daryl's temper flared and he grabbed the bars to his cell, pulling and jerking at them, just to burn off the inferno coursing through him. He'd already tried upending the bed the first day he was there and hurt himself stupidly; the damned things were bolted into the concrete.

It didn't take very long for him to wear himself out; he was definitely weakened in his sleep-deprived state. When he finally let go of the bars and fell back onto his cot, he realized that he'd managed to tear the healing skin of his knuckles; the blood was seeping out from the bandages wrapped around both hands.

He put one arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He hoped that Beth was doing better than he was; that she was healing, surrounded by her friends. Daryl hated the thought of her lying alone in a sterile hospital room, covered in injuries, while he was unable to do anything for her. His most recent dream about the hostile environment in that hospital tickled his memories, and he shuddered.

Just then, he heard the squeal of the door separating the cells from the guard's office, and sat up in his cot. Raised voices echoed down the short hallway and he knew that they were there for him; there had been two men in the drunk-tank last night, but they'd been released that morning, so Daryl was the only person left behind those bars. The footfalls stopped as the door clanged closed again, and he waited, listening.

"You can't be fucken' serious," Shane hissed, his voice carrying throughout the empty space.

"I'm very serious," Rick responded defensively. "I got confirmation from Carol, too, even. There's not a doubt in my mind."

"You don't have any _proof_ that you're right, though," Shane argued. "You saw what I saw when we entered that cabin, Rick. He had his hands on that girl, and the blood on his crossbow belonged to the other guy. Hell, Dixon shot the kid through with a _crossbow_, for fuck's sake. Doesn't that tell you enough?"

Daryl stood, anxiously beginning to pace again. What did Rick mean, he got confirmation from Carol? Confirmation of what? She hadn't been there that night. Maybe she'd told Rick how Daryl had threatened to beat her husband's ass just a week ago. Quite a character witness they'd found.

Why were they speaking to Carol in the first place, though? What was going on with Beth?

His chest constricted as he unintentionally imagined the worst. Maybe they were both dead. Maybe that's why the cops were finding anyone they could to give them dirt on Daryl. A lump formed in his throat, and he fisted one hand in his hair as he paced. She wasn't dead, he told himself. She couldn't be dead. She was too good for that. Beth was all laughter and kindness; he'd never seen anyone embrace life the way she seemed to. For her to leave the world by way of violence while he and Merle were still breathing air; it wasn't right.

"I have all o' the proof I need," Rick responded sternly. "And for that matter, it ain't your call, Shane. It's mine."

Before Daryl could manage to work himself into a panic with his dark thoughts, Rick continued on until he was stopped right in front of Daryl's cell.

Anxiously, Daryl shifted his weight from foot to foot, biting his thumb nail as he glared at Rick from under his long bangs.

"Any word on Beth?" he said, before the Sheriff could say anything. Whatever it was they were going to do to him now, he didn't care. He just needed to know that Beth was alright.

Rick nodded to him solemnly. "She wasn't healin' properly. Her throat's in pretty bad shape… They put her into a medical coma this mornin'."

Daryl clenched his jaw, feeling the tangy taste of copper as his teeth broke through the skin on the inside of his cheek. He thought not knowing was hell, but imagining her lying in a coma with a crushed throat was just as terrible.

_At leas' she's alive_, he reminded himself. The girl's a fighter; he saw evidence of that Tuesday night. She's a fighter, and she'll pull through. She had to.

His eyes dropped and focused on the lump Rick had tucked under one arm.

Rick cleared his throat and pulled the items out in front of him. It was a stack of Daryl's folded clothes and an envelope that said "Daryl Dixon" on the front in marker. Using his other hand, Rick pulled keys out and unlocked the door to Daryl's cell.

"I was at the hospital this week, keeping an eye on Zach and Beth. They were both in the ICU for awhile. She finally regained consciousness around 5 this morning; a nurse came and got me. She was coherent, and even though she couldn't remember anything about what had happened that night, she assured me that Zach had been the aggressor. She seemed surprised that you'd even been there at all."

Daryl exhaled and let out a chuckle that sounded embarrassingly close to a sob, but Rick didn't comment on it as Daryl took the pile of clothes from him.

"So… she's gonna be a'right?" Daryl said slowly. "She's talkin' an'… an' everythin'? Why're they puttin' her back into a coma, then?"

Rick looped his thumbs on his gunbelt, frowning as he looked up at the walls behind Daryl, choosing his words. "She's not _speaking_, really," he said. "She's on a ventilator until her throat is healed enough not to collapse on her again. I wrote words on a spiral and she used it to answer yes and no questions. But she looked shocked when I told her Zach's name, and when I asked if he'd ever hurt her before… Well, anyway. We have our guy, and he ain't you."

Rick's pause in reference to _Zach_ left a lot unsaid, but Daryl could fill in the blanks plenty fine on his own. _I asked if he'd ever hurt her before_… The thought of that fucker laying his hands on Beth once was enough to almost get him killed; but for Daryl to find out that this hadn't even been the first time? The prick had better pray for a life sentence. If he ever stepped foot outside a prison, Daryl would make sure no one could identify the body except his dentist. And, judging by how many teeth he'd lost the last time Daryl had gotten a hold of him, even _that_ method wouldn't be easy.

"O' course it ain't me," Daryl snapped, "I done _tol'_ you tha' all fucken week. All you cops ain't got ears or some shit." He felt livid, knowing that Beth had been kept alive by machines for days while doctors wasted their time working to save the life of her aggressor in the ICU. That asshole deserved nothing more than to be thrown into the hospital's incinerator fully conscious.

"I had'ta know for sure," Rick told him calmly. "If it had been reversed, with Zach in here and you in a hospital bed, you'd have wanted me to _know_ before I just let him free, right?"

Daryl heard him, and in time, he'd admit that Rick was right. But for now, all he could think was that Beth had been on the brink of death while he sat around in a cage for days. His anger had rendered his thought capacity for reasoning useless.

"Seems like your police work isn't wha' it usedta be. Didn't any o' you see the damned scratches on tha' fucker's arms?"

"Yeah," Rick admitted. "I made note of them, and Beth had skin under her nails that we sent off to labs in Atlanta. I knew it was him, but I didn't have the proof in hand, yet, Daryl. I needed something concrete."

"What room is she in?" Daryl said, bored with the Sheriff's excuses. Not bothering to wait for Rick to leave, Daryl started pulling off his orange inmate clothing, replacing it with his own.

"302," Rick told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "And Daryl… Zach is under 24-hour watch. He ain't goin nowhere even if he _could_, and you will not be permitted anywhere near his room, you got me? Don't be doin' nothin' stupid that'll land you right back in here, or worse. Just focus on Beth."

Daryl grunted at him, but made no promises.

As he was in the front signing out, he caught Shane out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him from across the lobby. Daryl flipped him off as he handed the clipboard back to the lady behind the glass. He chuckled darkly as Shane began striding in his direction, only to be intercepted and reamed by Rick. If he never saw that fucker again in his whole life, it'd still be too soon.

"Asshole," he muttered, pulling his jacket closer around himself as the door to the courthouse closed behind him. In the three days he'd been locked up, the temperature outside had dropped exponentially. Suddenly, Rick appeared from the door behind him, clapping a hand on the back of his shoulder.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift t'your place."

Daryl's first instinct was to refuse Rick's help; after all, it was his people's shoddy police work that had gotten Daryl thrown in there to begin with. That is, until a burst of wind slammed into him, chilling him to the bone; then he decided it wasn't the worst idea. He'd take Rick up on his offer, just this once.

He grunted and followed him to the squad car.

They drove most of the way without talking, although the low volume of the radio blended with the sound of the engine to keep the ride from being completely silent.

"Back there," Daryl said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "you said somethin' t' Shane about Carol; 'bout getting' confirmation from her…?"

"Ah," Rick said. "Well, the scene looked really bad on your part, but with Beth unconscious, I couldn't figure out where the other guy fit into all of it. Carol is the one who pulled me into the hallway at the hospital and told me about Beth's ex, Zach. We knew his name from his ID, but that was about it. Nothin' else was pulling up anything for him in the system, and Lori and the other girls hadn't ever seen or heard about him before. Carol told me she didn't think it was you. She said you'd never hurt a single hair on Beth's blonde head. I knew that it was Zach; I just needed Beth's verification before I could justify letting you out."

Daryl nodded briefly, his head swimming with all of the information he'd been granted that morning after days of not having any; sort of like when he was a kid, he'd get so dehydrated from being outside in the heat that he'd grab the hose and drink down a ton of water, but then got sick off of it, even though it's exactly what he needed.

So the prick he'd taken out had been Beth's ex. Not just some jealous stalker or anything; she'd actually been in a relationship with the jerk at one point. Daryl frowned as he looked out the window, letting the idea sink in. It kind of explained the way she acted toward _him_, now that he thought about it. She'd never been afraid of him, never backed down when he'd tried to intimidate her, and didn't ever take his anger very seriously; why would she cower to Daryl's pissy moods when she had survived the likes of _that_ rotten bastard?

Finally, Rick pulled into Daryl's driveway. "Thanks," Daryl mumbled to him as he got out and slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait and see if Rick had anything else to say.

He went straight into his trailer to grab his truck keys, and then he headed for the hospital a town over; the only one that'd be equipped with an ICU. _Room 302_, he reminded himself as he drove.

The hospital she was in wasn't huge, by any means, not like an inner-city hospital. But it was built with the intention of being the go-to hospital for the smaller surrounding towns, so there were still plenty of floors and commotion when Daryl walked in the entrance. He followed the signs and elevators up to her floor, searching for the right room number. He turned the corner and immediately recognized which room in the hallway was hers, based on the sheriff's deputy that was seated outside the door in a lobby chair, reading a magazine.

Daryl's nerves had started in on him while he was driving, and the closer he got, the more anxious he was. Now that he was twenty feet from her door, he was jittery; practically trembling in the anticipation.

He placed one foot in front of the other until the cop noticed him and looked up. He had been frowning until he looked Daryl over, seeming to relax a bit.

"You Daryl Dixon?" he quipped, standing and setting his paper aside on the chair.

"Yeah," Daryl responded, narrowing his eyes at the officer. He wasn't about to be turned away now that he'd made it this far, even if he had to take the guy out and piss Rick off something awful, he wasn't turning back.

"Rick called ahead and said to let you in. I just need t'see some I.D."

With shaking hands, Daryl pulled his wallet out and handed the whole thing to the officer for him to flip through, relieved that there wouldn't be any trouble. The cop briefly glanced at the driver's license and then handed it back, motioning for him to go in.

Daryl entered Beth's room as silently as possible; feeling his stomach flip over once the noise of the machines hit his ears. The electric beeping of her heartbeat was jarring; along with the occasional whooshing from the iron lung that was continuously filling her body with air. He'd only ever been inside of an actual hospital once before as a kid, when Merle had taken a spill on his bike. Daryl's dad hadn't ever taken them into the doctor for anything less than a broken bone, so Daryl had just never frequented them.

The antiseptic scent of everything made him lightheaded.

As soon as he was a couple more feet into the room, a short-haired brunette perched in a chair near the bed looked up at him. Her eyes were green, rather than the vast endless blue of Beth's irises; but the shapes of their eyes were the same, as well as the stubborn jaw.

Daryl froze, not having expected anyone to be there. Which was stupid, he realized. Everyone loved Beth; of course there would be someone sitting with her night and day. Awkwardly, he turned to leave.

"Wait," the girl said, coming around the bed towards him. "Don't leave on my account. I was getting ready to head back to the hotel for the night anyway; the doctors got mad at all of us trying to sleep in her room when there's no sense in it. We know she won't be awake until next week anyway," she laughed a little, humorlessly, glancing back at her sister on the bed.

Daryl hadn't been brave enough to actually look at Beth yet. He couldn't; not yet. He wasn't ready.

"I'm Maggie, by the way. Beth's sister," the woman said, gathering up her jacket and purse from the empty chair near the bathroom door. "It's nice to see that even though Bethy hasn't been here very long, she has made a good impression on a lot of people."

Not sure what she wanted him to say, he just nodded briefly.

She pressed her lips together, looking like she felt as awkward as he did. Finally, she just took her leave, glancing briefly back at her sister before shutting the door behind her softly; leaving him alone with Beth.

He paced around her room a bit, looking over at her bed where he could see the shape of her under the blankets. The whooshing of the iron lung still had his nerves on edge. Thankfully, the lights in there were dim, since it was pretty late in the evening; Daryl felt more comfortable under the cover of the dark. The only bright spot in her room was from a lamp near her bed that was on. The brightness streamed over her bedside table which was covered in vases that were overflowing with flowers, along with various balloons, and some stuffed animals sprinkled throughout.

He hadn't even thought to bring her anything for when she woke up.

Biting his thumb, he finally advanced on her bed and looked upon her for the first time since Tuesday night.

He was slightly relieved to see that his imagination had in fact worked overtime to produce a much bleaker picture of her. Her face was still pretty bruised, but the worst of it had already begun turning yellow, so she'd at least been healing while he was locked up.

He couldn't see her throat because of the brace around it, and she had an oxygen mask covering the entire lower half of her face. He stared, surprised at how _different_ she looked with all of her features relaxed. He'd heard of the notion that people looked younger when they were asleep, but to him, Beth looked older. Her skin was translucently pale compared to the dark discoloration of her bruises, and even the light splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed more pronounced than he'd ever remembered. Her features looked peaceful, but somber. She didn't look like herself without a big grin plastered across her face, or the stubborn scowl that was aimed at him quite a bit.

Daryl couldn't ever remember looking at her for such a long period of time before; generally he took her all in through quick glances. He didn't want to stare and creep her out before, but now he found that he couldn't look away.

He swallowed, feeling nervous around her, even though he didn't buy into the notion that coma patients were aware of everything going on around them while they were out.

Finally, he pulled up the chair that her sister had been occupying, and sat down in it, scooting it so that he was up against her bed. Seeing how weak she looked made him feel helpless and useless.

He leaned forward softly, leaning his arm on the mattress next to her, and propping his chin on it. He used his other hand to gently reach out and touch her arm. He ran his fingertips up and down her soft, warm skin, being careful not to bump any of the IV tubes plugged into her wrist and hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly.

Daryl felt like he wanted his hands all over her, to be pressed against her, just to be closer to her; to share her warmth and listen to her heartbeat. He settled for slipping a few of his calloused fingers underneath her hand.

He frowned when, instead of the soft, warm skin of her palm, he encountered the smooth, flat texture of paper. Sitting up, he gently lifted her hand and pulled out a small folded square of white. His breath caught when he flipped it over; his name staring up at him in her feminine, delicate handwriting.

He glanced at her as though her expression would give something away; if she were awake, she'd probably be grinning one of her trademark smiles that lit up her whole damn face.

It took him a second to open it, since his hands were still pretty unsteady. He glanced at it briefly in its entirety, realizing that her penmanship was shaky, and her sentences were slanting completely off of the pre-printed lines on the paper. She must've written it this morning when Rick said she'd regained consciousness. He leaned back in the chair, biting on the tip of his index finger as he began to read her letter.

_Daryl,_

_I awoke this morning to strange noises and pain. My breath is like fire in my chest, and I feel like the world has gone on without me. Rick was in here asking about an attack that I don't remember. Zach, the very thing I left Chicago to get away from, is now merely a floor away from me in the ICU._

_And then there's you… caught in the middle of whatever this was. Thrown in jail. _

_I can't begin to imagine how you got tangled up in all of this, or what you've been going through this past week, but I'm so sorry._

_I'm sorry that I kept pushing at you when you wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I'm sorry that I ruined your hunts and interrupted your breakfasts. I'm sorry that I broke my promise to leave you be after you spent all night being coddled by me against your will. Mostly, I'm sorry for what I said to you on Saturday. I regretted my words the moment I stepped out of the store, and this morning, waking up in the hospital, I hated the idea that I might've died and left you to spend the rest of your life thinking I meant those terrible words; I didn't, and I'm sorry._

_But, I'm not sorry that you came to be in my life. I'm not sorry about the way you make me smile, or even how mad you can get me. I'm not sorry that I shared pie with you, and I'm not sorry you showed up on my doorstep after you fell into a river. I'm not sorry I teased you about your groceries, or got to hang out with you at the bar. I'm not sorry that I've seen you blush or that you yelled at one of your coworkers just because he was trying to ask me out. I'm not sorry that you're my neighbor or that I catch you staring at me like I might mean something to you, too. I'm not sorry I kissed you in the rain; I'll never be sorry about that. I'm not sorry about the way you make me feel, and I'm not even sorry that I'm not sorry. You'll have to get over it._

_I'll see you when I wake up._

_-Beth_

He re-read her letter multiple times; he sure as fuck hadn't seen that coming.

He jumped up from the chair, abandoning her letter at the foot of her bed, and left her room.

The guard at her door asked, "Leavin'?"

"Air," Daryl said. "Jus' need some air."

"Alright," the cop responded. "If you're planning on coming back tonight, I wouldn't wonder too far, though. You have special permission to stay all night, but the nurses on the other floors don't like unidentified personnel wandering their halls after visiting hours; you're likely to get escorted out."

Daryl walked down the hall without responding. He wandered the halls, just as he was warned not to do, just trying to keep his head clear of anything. He didn't want to think about what was in her letter.

It had been a mistake, he finally decided. Beth was probably all loopy on pain medicine for her injuries, and she'd written him a crazy letter that she hadn't meant for him to ever see. He'd just have to get rid of it and pretend like he'd never laid eyes on the damned thing. Maybe she wouldn't remember writing it, or would assume one of the nurses had thrown it away. He'd never speak to her about it. It was for the best.

Once he'd made his second circuit around the hospital, he stopped a nurse to ask where the gift shop was. "It's one floor down, just follow the signs. I'd hurry if I were you, though; they close in like 3 minutes."

He found it finally, with only a minute or so to spare. As soon as he walked in the door, the little bell jingled merrily, and the lady behind the register looked at the clock and frowned at his bad timing.

Ignoring her rudeness, he walked around looking at all of the little stands filled with flowers, balloons, candy, and stuffed animals. He felt really awkward and out of place, surrounded by so much color and well-wishes. And why the fuck was he in there anyway? Beth wouldn't want anything from him.

He'd been on his way out the door when a strange color caught his eye. He paused and backed up a step, searching the overflowing shelf of stuffed animals. Finally, Daryl spotted the tuft of russet-red and reached in to pull the animal out of the pile on the shelf. It was a grumpy looking little dog with an under-bite and turned-down eyebrows. It looked exactly like the stupid ass mongrel in the forest that had caused him to fall into the river; the same russet colored mutt that had chased Beth into a thorny bramble. He smirked at it as he held it.

Beth would think it was funny as shit, too, he knew.

Before he could over-think his decision, he went and set it on the counter, digging out some money. The lady rang it up and threw it in a bag. After getting his change, he left and went back upstairs.

The cop nodded at Daryl briefly as he passed by to re-enter Beth's room.

Once he was back in there, he felt better. He pulled out her mean little stuffed animal and shoved it in with the rest of her get-well-soon collection. He wanted her to have it, but she didn't need to know that it was from him. After all, he hadn't exactly told her that he'd fallen into the river because of the same hellhound that he'd given her crap about not existing. She'd never let him live that one down.

He threw the paper gift shop bag and the receipt into the trash bin near the door. He grabbed her letter off of the bed and walked it over, intending to trash it, as well. Instead, he folded it up and stuck it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He told himself that he'd throw it away later; at home, where it was safe from other readers.

He walked back over and looked down at her, chewing on the inside of his lip. She still fucking smelled like coconut, he realized. It was faint, fighting against the other chemical scents in the room, but it was there just the same.

Pacing around her room a bit more, he warred with the decision to stay or leave. He shouldn't be in there for too much longer, but at the same time, he wasn't quite ready to leave her. Look at what had happened last time he fuckin' left her. Not that she wouldn't be safe in the hospital, or like he had any hope of helping her even if something _did_ go wrong, but guilt was funny like that. He couldn't just abandon her again.

With his mind made up, Daryl sat back down in the chair next to her bed. Exhausted and weary from the week's events, he pillowed his head in his arms and laid them on her mattress next to her. Turning his head to the side, he stared at her delicate hand, still sporting the bright red nail polish from Halloween night. He slid his hand on top of hers, rubbing the tops of her fingers gently with his thumb. He closed his eyes for a second, fighting against falling asleep and reliving more of the nightmares that had been plaguing him.

Suddenly, voices roused him from sleep. He opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness of the room. Who the fuck would turn all of the lights on in the middle of the night?

He sat up stiffly, still squinting, and froze as the faces of Beth's friends all stared back at him in amazement. Standing there was Lori, Rick's wife; the waitress from the diner who hated him; Carol; and the girl who was married to the waitress' older brother, Tyreese.

Daryl turned around to look behind him at the window, shocked to find that sunlight was streaming in from behind the curtains.

He'd slept the entire fucking night away.

Standing hastily, he started walking away when he realized the IV bag next to Beth's bed was being pulled his direction. He looked down at the cord that was loosely tangled in the button on his jacket sleeve.

"Fuck," he hissed, checking to make sure he hadn't jerked the fucking needle right out of her arm. Everything looked like it was where it belonged, though, so he gently wrestled the cord away from his sleeve, feeling his face burning in embarrassment.

Then he stalked toward the group of women, glaring at them defiantly from beneath his hair. _Let one of them talk shit_, he thought. He had just as much right as any of them to be there.

Instead, they just stepped back out of his way and watched him leave with their eyebrows still up in the air.

Daryl made it out to his truck and was thankful it hadn't been towed in the middle of the night; he'd accidentally parked in the two-hour parking section. That would have sucked since, if anything, it had gotten even more cold and windy out than it had been the night before.

He glanced back up at the hospital before he put his truck in reverse, vaguely wondering if any of the windows he could see had _Zach_ lying on the other side of them. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do about that prick. He began his drive home.

Upon arriving on their street, Daryl began to pull into Beth's driveway, but saw that parked behind her Jeep was another car; definitely not the same one that had been there Tuesday when he'd walked by her house. This one was different. He figured they'd probably towed Zach's car; Rick would have been smart enough not to leave it in her driveway, even if it was just the bastard's rental. Daryl assumed that the little red rented Passat probably belonged to Beth's sister.

He'd come over intending to collect his crossbow and clean up all of the glass and blood in her house; maybe replace the window so that the cabin wasn't frigid by the time she got sent back home. However, as he sat there, he felt like an idiot. Surely his crossbow was sitting in the police impound as evidence, since he'd used it to shoot Zach. _If_ he ever saw it again, it wouldn't be for a very long time.

Briefly, Daryl wondered if Rick would have released him from jail yesterday if he'd known that Daryl had been aiming the arrow at Zach's head that night. Daryl's perfect shot had only been ruined by the fluke of one tiny piece of glass getting crushed carelessly under his damned boot. If it hadn't been for that, the fucker wouldn't be up in ICU right now, wasting a perfectly good heart monitor.

With Beth's sister, and possibly other family members around, he figured they'd manage to clean up the damage left by the attack, if they hadn't done so already. He wasn't needed there after all, so he reversed out of her driveway and headed for the trailer.

By the time he pulled into his da's driveway, the clock on his dash read 10 a.m. He certainly felt like the day had already been a lot longer than that.

He got inside of the trailer, shutting the door behind him and dropping his keys into the shallow bowl perched on the small stand in the kitchen.

Reaching for his phone on the table, he was surprised that it still had about 50% of its battery left. He hardly ever used it for anything, so he didn't download all of the games and other bullshit onto it that other people seemed inclined to. The upside of it was, his battery lasted a long time.

He only had a couple of missed calls; two from Oscar, one from Ron, and a fourth from a local number that he didn't recognize. He opened his voicemail, setting the phone to speaker and laying it down on the counter as he dug through his fridge, trying to find something that looked even remotely appetizing.

"_Hey, you fucker! Where have you been, Holmes?" _Oscar screeched through the speaker_. "Damn, you like fell off the face of the planet or something. Did you get lost in Tijuana with some hookers, or what, dude?! Call me back for drinks_."

_Unlikely_, Daryl thought, snickering at the idea of him in Tijuana. He didn't have a thing with banging random chicks that the other guys in the shop seemed inclined to enjoy; he'd have no use for the place. Getting a beer with Oscar just might be needed after the week he'd gone through, though.

Ron's voice was next, "_Daryl, I just wanted to check up on you and make sure everything was goin' alright. If I don't hear back from you, we'll see you in the shop Monday morning. Bye_."

Daryl felt relieved that, somehow, miraculously, all of the shit that week hadn't managed to cost him his job. He threw some meat, bread, and slightly moldy cheese onto the counter to make a sandwich out of, when the next voicemail made his blood run cold.

He heard a broken sob, and then Beth's frightened voice rang out in his kitchen. "_Daryl, I need you. He… he found me… I didn't know it was him, and I opened the door… he's in my house_," she rambled, occasionally pausing to gulp down air. "_He's going to kill me, Daryl, I can see it in his eyes… I need you. I need you so bad right now…_" her voice cracked along with Daryl's heart, and he sank to the floor, unable to hold himself upright.

Brokenly, she whimpered, "_Daryl, please_…"

There was a thump, and then the unmistakable sounds of her crying softly, her breath hitching every so often. He grabbed the phone off of the counter, handling it like it might explode. He sat back against his cupboards, staring at the time and date on the phone.

She was in the hospital right now, he reassured himself; he'd just left her in the hands of her friends. She wasn't _there_ right now; this was from Tuesday night. The information at the top of her voicemail said 10 p.m. , he realized, which meant that she'd called him a whole 30 minutes before he'd gotten to her. He felt sick to his stomach, listening to her hopeless sobbing on the other end of the phone.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise in the background and Beth cried out, "_No_!" There was shuffling, and then Beth's voice, screaming at the top of her lungs. Daryl flinched, dropping the phone onto his floor. He curled in a ball against the corner of his fridge and cabinets, fisting a hand in his hair, wanting like hell to turn his phone off, but unable to. He would be there for her this time, even if it'd happened days ago. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most; so he would suffer through her darkest hour now. He owed her that much.

Daryl began to realize that he almost hadn't made it to her at all. What had been the fucking chances of him wandering around near her cabin that late at night, just happening to see the window break as something was thrown through it?

He wiped at his wet face, imagining how fucking terrified she had been, thinking he wasn't coming for her. Probably convinced no one would be coming for her. Her cabin was so far out in the middle of nowhere, and her only fucking neighbor hadn't answered his goddamn phone…

"_You thought a door would stop me, you stupid fucking cunt_!" a man's voice screamed near the receiver. Then Beth cried out as Daryl heard another thud followed by the sound of breaking glass. His heart was pounding in his throat, and he heard two sets of footsteps running further away from the phone, and then in the distance, more glass shattering. A scuffle. Beth's voice, barely audible from the other room shrieking, "_Get off of me_!" Zach said something muffled that Daryl couldn't make out, but then Beth screamed again, sounding terrified.

"Fuck," he huffed, right before he leaned forward and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. There was more yelling and crying, something being thrown…

Just as Daryl thought he couldn't take any more, the voicemail cut itself off at the 5 minute mark, and it was as if the whole world had gone deathly silent.

**Parting A/N: So, when I had Beth write the note in the last chapter, I was literally thinking it would be something simple and sweet. I wanted it to just say, "Stay with me," or something to that effect. But then the reviews came in, and everyone was expecting something a little more… juicy. So, I hope I did right by all of you and your wishes! I tried not to make it too corny or sappy. And honestly, if I'd actually planned on having something heartfelt written out for him to read, I'd have had her tear out a page from her journal that talked about him, to leave for him to read- just to tie in her journal entries from the show when they were running after the prison fell. Oh well, too little too late! Anyway, I hope this chapter met your Daryl quota. I made sure it was nice and long.. ;)**


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hey there! Long time no see! To be honest, since school for the kiddo has started back up, all of my late-night writing power-hours, followed by really early mornings, had begun to catch up with me, and I spent all day yesterday feeling sick and destroyed. My migraine made me sensitive to light, sound, and little annoyances, like our cats eating my house plants and knocking over DVDs. Bastards.**

**I had no energy to write, no will, and no creativity flowing. Today, you have J to thank for the new chapters [yes, that's plural. I'm aiming for two today,] because he said if I posted another one today, he'd hand over something I've been trying to blackmail him out of for quite a long time. So, he sacrificed a lot for this chapter.**

**Also, thanks to all of the reviews from the last chapter, they were fun to read, as usual. I even had one person tell me I should write for the show, and you know what? I THINK SO, TOO! No, I'm just kidding. It'd be a dream job, but I don't have the chops for that industry. But thank you anyway! I appreciated the ego boost =D**

**[Just to give you an idea of how cruel I am, though… I told my husband awhile back that if I wrote for the Walking Dead, I'd totally write an episode where all of the main cast members died, and then had it air on April 1****st****. After the credits, I'd have a shot of the entire cast being like "April Fools!" and then continue the next episode from where the prior one had left off.. like the April 1****st**** episode had never happened. Sooo funny. So you guys should probably be thankful that I DON'T have that job. Haha!]**

**Mostly everyone liked the last few chapters, which was cool. A few people didn't; they felt like the last couple of chapters had dragged a bit. Chapters 14 and 15 ****_were_**** kind of a bummer without the Daryl and Beth banter that you all enjoyed from the first half of the story, but... tragedy struck and it is what it is. I promise I have some good stuff in store for you guys. We just have to trudge through some of the angst. And isn't that life sometimes, anyway? Sometimes things don't work out the way you had imagined, and it takes you travelling a much different road to land where you were always meant to end up. **

**So chins up, my pretties! I'm going to make this chapter kind of short, because the good stuff, well… it needs to be from Daryl's POV, and I just don't feel like Beth waking up and running into his arms is realistic, given the situation. Sorry!**

**Stick with it, I promise rewards ;)**

**Chapter 16**

Her chest felt heavy and her throat was sore. As she came further up out of the blackness and back into light, she had the distinct feeling that she hadn't been there in awhile; in the light. She opened her eyes, blinking at the brightness, squinting as shapes moved around her. She could hardly move her arms or legs; it was as if her body had been filled with concrete. Every limb was stiff and heavy.

She heard a gasp as a shape loomed over her, blocking out a good portion of the blinding light.

"Bethy," Maggie cried.

Finally, her eyes adjusted, and over her stood her sister, Maggie, and her daddy.

"Oh my god, Bethy," Maggie said again, leaning down to smother her sister with a hug.

Looking up beyond Maggie's hair, Beth could see that her daddy had tears in his eyes, as well.

"Hey," Beth greeted, her voice sounding rusty from disuse.

"Hey," Maggie echoed, sitting back to look into her face again. "You scared the crap out of us! They've been trying to pull you outta that coma since yesterday."

_Coma_? Beth wondered, as her dad put his hand on her head and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

Then, it came back to her. The anesthesiologist going over with her what would happen when he put her under; the nurse telling Beth that her throat was torn, so she'd have to be induced into a coma; writing that letter to Daryl; the conversation with Rick; _Zach_.

"How long have I been out?" she croaked, reaching up to put her hand against her bare neck. The brace was gone, as were the breathing tubes and the oxygen mask.

"A little over a week," Maggie answered. "They put you under last Friday and they were going to try to pull you out of the coma on the following Thursday, but then they decided to wait three more days, instead. Then you didn't wake up yesterday like you were supposed to; today is Monday."

"And Zach…" Beth asked, fearing the answer.

"_Zach_ is no longer a threat to you," her daddy answered confidently. "That sheriff did a good job with all of the evidence they collected. He came by Friday afternoon to let us know that Zach's real name is Kyle, and he has apparently been running from the law for some time now, changing out his identity. You aren't the first girl he's hurt, Beth," he said, frowning at the thought, "but you will be the last. They considered him healed enough to transport last week, so they flew him into Boston by helicopter. He'd going to be standing trial there for the murder of two girls a couple of years ago."

Beth put her hand over her mouth at the thought of it. She realized early on that he'd been crazy, and definitely unstable. She thought about the night he'd broken into her cabin; she had been sure that Zach was going to kill her. But to know that he'd already proven himself capable of such a thing, _before_ she'd even started dating him? The thought was terrifying. How could she not have known right away?

As though reading Beth's thoughts, Maggie tucked a strand of hair behind Beth's ear and said, "When we get home, we're having a conversation about your choices in men, little sister."

Frowning, Beth said, "I don't need you to lecture me on men, Maggie. Zach was a fluke. You know I'm normally very good at reading people."

Before Maggie could argue, the door to her room opened, and a doctor came inside with a clipboard.

"Excellent," he said, smiling at Beth. "I figured it would only be a matter of time before you woke up. Welcome back."

The rest of the day passed in a blur for her. The nurses assisted in getting Beth moving again. Maggie helped her in the shower, much to Beth's embarrassment, and they both tried not looking too hard at the bruises still fading from her skin, or the series of butterfly bandages holding the cut together on her stomach while it healed. She'd been lucky that it was shallow and hadn't required stitches; lucky Zach hadn't been inches closer and completely gutted her.

She'd spent the last part of the afternoon walking around her room and regaining her balance. It was like having sea-legs on shore; she was wobbly and unbalanced. Sick of being in one place, though, Beth had insisted on getting out of the room that evening. After eating terrible hospital food out of the cafeteria for dinner, she held on to her daddy's arm as he led her up and down the halls, Maggie trailing in their wake. Beth felt stronger and more confident with each step.

Finally, on Tuesday morning, two whole weeks after the incident, Beth was finally discharged from the hospital. Maggie had thrown all of Beth's cards and stuffed animals in a large bag, and her daddy and Glen had their arms full with all of the flower arrangements that Beth had received over the course of the two weeks she'd been in there. That weekend, she would have to work on writing out Thank You notes to everyone who was thoughtful enough to send gifts. She felt humbled that she had so many great friends after only living there a couple of months.

Once they pulled up to Beth's cabin in Glenn's rental car, she got out of the back seat and stretched, looking her cabin over. She'd been worried in the hospital that she'd make it back home and feel uneasy or unsafe, but she wasn't feeling any trepidation over the place in the daylight. The memory of her attack was slightly fuzzy, and felt like it had happened much longer ago than just two weeks. She'd be just fine there, given a little bit of time.

They all took armloads of the duffel bags, flowers, and other things that Maggie had steadily brought to the hospital for Beth and carried them into the cabin. Beth could tell that everyone was keeping an eye on her for any bad reactions, so she was careful not to make any faces that could be construed badly. She didn't want Maggie and daddy to head back to Cincinnati still worrying about her.

Once she was in the cabin, she headed back to her room to dump her duffel bag and stuffed animals on her bed. All of the glass and blood had been cleaned off of the floor, so the only thing different about her living room was the patched up window and the piles of neatly stacked DVDs where her shelves had been. She'd just have to buy a new one; no big deal, she told herself.

The door to her bedroom was still broken; it would take a professional to figure out how to fix that. Her nightstand had been moved back, though, and the phone placed back on it. The broken lamp was gone.

All in all, the place looked pretty normal. She clenched her hands into fists briefly, remembering the feel of her nails breaking when she raked them across the hard wooden floors as she was being dragged backwards by the ankle. She put the thought out of her mind, consciously made the effort to relax her hands, and went back out into the living room. Her entire kitchen table was covered in the flower arrangements, a few sitting on the kitchen counter as well.

"We'll have to leave them all here, Bethy," Maggie told her sadly.

"That's not a problem at all," Beth replied, thinking Maggie's emotions were a bit off. "I can just find places for them later."

"It's too bad you couldn't bring any of them with you; they're all so pretty. Your friends are amazing." Maggie told her.

Beth, who had been grabbing bottles of water out of the fridge for everyone, straightened up at her sister's words. She turned on her, holding out a bottle, and asked, "What do you mean, bring them with me?"

"Home," Maggie said like it was an obvious answer.

Glenn leaned against the back of Beth's couch in the living room, facing them but effectively distancing himself from the discussion. Her dad sat down in the only kitchen chair she had left.

"I _am_ home," Beth said slowly.

Maggie chuckled like she was joking and crossed her arms over her chest, "Be reasonable, Bethy. You can't _stay_ here, not after what happened. That's crazy."

"Nothing's wrong with my cabin," Beth argued tersely. "It was _Zach_ that was the problem, and he's on his way to trial in Boston, remember? It's fine now."

"Even without Zach in the picture, it's dangerous to be living out here in the middle of the woods without a single neighbor in shouting distance, _by_ _yourself_! If I had known how secluded this cabin was, I wouldn't have let you buy it!" Maggie shouted.

"Well, aren't you delusional," Beth scoffed, crossing her arms in the same manner as Maggie. "Thinkin' you have a say at all in where I choose to live. I'm not a little girl anymore, Maggie. I _like_ my cabin, and I _do_ have a neighbor! Does 'Daryl' ring any bells?"

"Yeah," Maggie said, eyes spitting fire, "He does ring a bell! Nearly beat a guy to death, shot him with an arrow-"

"Yeah, _to protect me_!" Beth interrupted, making sure Maggie had her facts straight.

"He's the same guy who almost shot you with an arrow once, too, remember that story?! And just how did he know you needed help that night, Beth? I've walked around your property; he doesn't live within shouting distance of here. He just _happened_ to be out for a walk near your cabin and heard the commotion?" Maggie leaned in, jaw set in a stubborn line.

Beth leaned in, too, shouting, "I _called_ him!"

Maggie frowned; Glenn and her daddy stayed quiet, watching the two of them go at it. Arguments between them weren't uncommon; Greene girls were stubborn.

Beth calmed herself down, trying for a more even tone of voice. "You told me I hadn't remembered anything the first time I woke up; and honestly, the talk I had with Rick is still kind of fuzzy. But the rest of it is there, now; I remember the evening Zach came. I had barricaded myself in my room and called the police. I was worried they wouldn't make it, and I knew Daryl would protect me, though. He always protects me; so I called him. I left him a voicemail; he must've listened to it and then headed over."

Maggie sighed, calming down, as well, but still not ready to give up. "Beth, it still isn't safe. You're still injured, and… I just wouldn't be comfortable flying back home knowing you're sitting around in this empty cabin by yourself, thinking about what happened with Zach. You won't be able to sleep or anything. Just come home with us for awhile, and we'll figure out what to do later. Glenn has contacts all over the place; we'll help you find a new job. It'll be good for you, Bethy. I promise."

Beth didn't want to leave. She'd spent so much time and money fixing up her cabin, and she had friends here, her Jeep, things to fix with Daryl, a routine; a life. Looking at her daddy, though, into his sad blue eyes, she realized he wanted the same thing as Maggie. He was worried about her, too.

"It only has to be for a little while, if you want," he said gently, now that he had her attention, "just a chance to heal around family and get back on your feet. You can always decide later if you want to stay here or start somewhere fresh. You know you're always welcome back at home."

Sighing, Beth relented. It didn't feel right to her and it wasn't what she wanted; but she could see the effects of her hospital stay written all over Maggie and daddy's faces. She was even surprised Glenn was still there. They were all missing work, away from home, and trying to help her; trying to put her needs first. This is what they thought was best.

Besides, she assured herself, it would be nice to see her old childhood home again, and visit old friends there. She'd make daddy and Maggie happy, and they could get back to their lives. She could spend the time relaxing, applying for jobs over the internet like she had been doing all along anyway. Although she would miss them, her friends would completely understand, she knew they would.

What about Daryl, though? She hadn't seen him at all, and he didn't seem like the type of person to sit and waste time in a hospital room, so she doubted he'd visited her. She hadn't had the chance to thank him for saving her, even if she couldn't remember him being at her cabin that night. He had spent three whole days in jail over the incident, though, and she hoped like hell he hadn't lost his job or anything.

"I have to make a few calls first," she told them quietly.

Maggie smiled at her and pulled her into a huge hug. "Oh, thank you Beth! You'll love it, you'll see. Go start packing; our plane leaves tonight at 11."

Beth frowned, upset that Maggie had bought the tickets before she'd gotten her to agree to come. She was so arrogant sometimes…!

"Why so soon?" Beth asked, avoiding a confrontation on the issue of Maggie's unbelievable gall, for now.

"Well," her daddy said, sensing the tension, "we thought you'd be out of the hospital a few days ago and that we would have more time to convince you to come back home. But honestly, we thought you'd be relieved to get away from here. I hadn't expected such a fight, honey. I'm sorry that it seems so sudden."

"No, it's fine," Beth said, smiling at him reassuringly, even though she didn't feel it. "I'll just get started on those calls."

She looked at the clock on her stove. She had an hour and a half to pack and get her affairs in order before it would be time to leave for the airport.

Going into her room for some privacy, she sat on her bed and picked up the receiver on the phone. She remembered how tightly she'd been gripping it while she huddled under her bed, waiting for salvation, praying that Zach wouldn't make it through the door before help arrived. She quickly shook the thoughts from her mind.

She punched in Daryl's cell phone number and leaned back against her headboard, her heart pounding in the anticipation of hearing his voice again.

"Daryl," his voice echoed gruffly, and then there was the beep.

It had gone straight to voicemail. She didn't know what to say this time, so she just hung up. She opened her nightstand, dug out the card he'd left her and dialed the number for the shop.

"Thanks for callin' Ron's Automotive, we fix anything, this is Steven," he said loudly and quickly. The noise in the background was overpowering, and she lifted the phone from her ear a bit.

"Is Daryl there?" she asked.

"What?" he shouted.

"Daryl," she said louder, "is he there?"

"Nah," Steven said, and in the background she heard him yell, "Not that one Mark, the other one!" His voice was back in the phone when he said "Daryl's gone for the night. Anything I can help with?"

"No, just… if you would, tell him I called. It's Beth."

"Beth," he said, recognition lighting up his voice. "He mentioned you were in the hospital for something, doing better now?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, not sure how much Daryl had told him. She could hear him moving against the phone like he was shifting, then a door shutting.

Finally, she could hear him clearly without as much background noise. "Listen, his cell phone has been broken, and he hasn't gotten a line put in at his new apartment yet, but I can have Oscar swing by tonight when he gets off, and let Daryl know you called, if you want."

His new apartment? Daryl had _moved away_?

"Uh…" she said stupidly, caught off-guard. "Yeah, if Oscar is willing to, that'd be… that'd be nice. I'm actually going to be on a plane in awhile, I'm headed back to Cincinnati. So maybe he could call me tomorrow, from the work phone or something…"

"Yeah, I'll let him know." Steven said abruptly. "Take care."

"You too," she said quietly as the line went dead. She hung up, feeling a huge weight in her chest. Daryl had moved away from her while she'd been lying in the hospital. That should definitely tell her something. He must've been livid about being in jail and getting caught up in her huge mess. She wished she could remember Daryl being at the cabin that night, and what had happened between him and Zach.

_That settles it, then_, she thought. Pulling her suitcase out of her closet, with tears in her eyes, she began to pack up her clothing.


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: Per usual, all of the reviews were excellent. I'm so glad everyone is appreciating the slow burn, even though it's agonizing at times. I just started this story promising myself that they wouldn't get together by chapter two; it always seemed unrealistic that they'd fall for each other so quickly. They're both from very different walks of life, and Daryl has a hard time appreciating himself, let alone anyone else. In the show, they spent months together at the prison and didn't form a stronger bond until they were thrust together by circumstance while they were on the run. So, I wanted to keep that going within my realm; an eventual appreciation for one another, overcoming internal and external obstacles. Yadda yadda.**

**Anyway, since chapter 16 was pretty short and terribly distressing, I went ahead and completed chapter 17- the one I'd been looking forward to writing.**

**Winner, winner; chicken dinner. **

**Chapter 17**

It had been a few days since he'd visited her, and Daryl knew he needed to go back. He tried to go see her at weird hours so that he didn't run into her friends or family, but there had been so many people in and out of the hospital that it had been tough. The last time, he had driven all the way there, only to be in her room for all of 5 minutes before someone else showed up. Then he'd left in his awkwardness.

He'd been trying to pull double-shifts at the shop whenever he could, to make up for the week he'd lost. Between working, driving to the hospital, and his damned nightmares, he hardly got any sleep and he went through most days like a zombie. That night, they were scheduled to do inventory, but Daryl had been so dead on his feet that Ron sent him home to get some sleep. Normally, Daryl would have argued and insisted to stay, but he'd wanted to check in on a certain blonde.

As soon as he'd gotten home from the shop that evening, he'd changed out of his work clothes, antsy at the prospect of visiting Beth. He was worried about her since the doctors kept pushing the date back on when they planned to take her out of the coma. Although he wanted her to wake up and get on with her life, he was cheerless at the prospect that his time spent being so close to her was near an end. He needed just one more night spent next to her before he could finally let go.

After getting dressed, though, he stumbled over his own feet and decided it was best to just sit down and rest for a minute before he started the long drive to the hospital. He plopped down on his bare mattress since he hadn't been able to go shopping for furniture during the days he'd taken off of work for that purpose, and thus, still had no couch.

He awoke to knocking at his front door. As he sat up, he cursed himself for falling asleep; it was pitch black outside now. Walking over to his door, he swung it open to see Oscar standing there.

"Hey, man," he greeted groggily.

"Daryl, man," Oscar said, grinning at him, "Your girl called the shop earlier."

"What?" Daryl said. What girl was Oscar on about? Sometimes a chick would come into the shop and one of the guys would get caught staring or flirting; from then on, the man was teased relentlessly about when his 'girl' was coming back in for her car. But Daryl never stared, and he sure as shit never flirted, so he didn't have any of _those_ girls.

"Jeep girl, dude," Oscar said, scoffing at him. "How many pretty blondes you got on rotation? You need more sleep, Holmes."

Suddenly wide awake, Daryl fisted his hand in Oscar's shirt. "Jeep girl? _Beth_? She called the shop herself? When?"

"Dude, you need ta chill out!" Oscar said, smacking Daryl's hand off of him. "I was busy with customers; I didn't talk to her. Steve told me when I was leaving that I needed to stop over and let you know, since your phone is broke and all."

"Gimme yours," Daryl demanded, holding his hand out.

"No use, Holmes. She told Steve she was getting on a plane _tonight_. She said for you to call her tomorrow. I just thought, you know, you'd wanna know."

A _plane_? Daryl put his hand on the door frame, suddenly unsteady. She was _leaving_?

"Are you alright, man? You don't look so good," Oscar said, holding a hand out like Daryl needed steadying.

"Yeah," he said blankly. "I'm fine. Thanks for lettin' me know…"

Oscar nodded, but looked concerned for his friend. "Yeah, alright, man. Hey, you call me if you need anythin', you hear me? Anythin."

"I'm fine," Daryl repeated.

He shut the door as Oscar left, his head spinning with the idea that Beth was just _gone_. He'd seen her a few days ago in the hospital, and in that short span of time, she'd apparently just woken up out of a damned coma and walked out of his life.

He realized that during all of the times he'd pushed her away and tried to distance himself from her, he must've never truly believed it would work, because even after she'd been the one to walk away from him at the bar that fateful night, he hadn't felt _this_ desolate.

If he'd have known that the last time he was going to see her would be the very last time, he wouldn't have left her bedside just because all of her friends had been showing up; he'd have stayed longer and soaked her in more. Now it was too late; she was just gone.

_Or was she_?

Oscar never mentioned what time she was leaving. If she and her family were leaving only days after her leaving the hospital, then it was possible they'd had to book a red-eye. He looked over at the clock on his stove; it was 11:24.

Before he knew he'd even made up his mind, he snatched his jacket off of the hook by the door, grabbed his keys, and jogged down the steps to his truck.

As he drove, Daryl had to keep his eye on the speedometer, pulling his foot off of the gas every so often because he was gunning it down icy roads. He'd never catch her in time if he slid off the damn road into a ditch.

Daryl's heart sank as he pulled into her empty driveway. He inched his way closer to her dark cabin, finally stopping and turning the truck off. His breath puffed out white from the cold as he sat there, unsure as to what his next move should even be. It's not like he could drive all the way to the airport. There were two larger airports that she had an equal chance of leaving from; both were pretty far away, and resided in opposite directions.

He got out of the truck and trudged up her porch. He knew it was stupid, so fucking stupid, but he knocked anyway. There was no sound, no movement, no light clicking on from inside. He tried the door handle, and sure enough, it was locked.

Pacing around on her porch, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, hating himself for falling asleep. If he'd gotten to the hospital earlier and found out that she had been discharged already, he could have made it back in time, possibly.

He'd planned on staying at his da's trailer as soon as she got home from the hospital, just to keep a safe distance. It was pretty damn cold, but he'd considered camping in the forest near her cabin, at least for the first few days, just to keep an eye on her. His overprotection was probably irrational; he knew Zach was taken care of by the law, but he couldn't help but want to stick close to her.

His stomach felt queasy and he sat down on her top step, leaning his head against the frozen post of her railing. If she'd been trying to call his cellphone again, and he'd missed her, again…

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.

The first time he had listened to her voicemail from that fateful Tuesday night, he'd nearly come undone. The second time was worse, though. And after he'd listened to it 3 more times, hating himself more and more each time he lived through it, he finally took the damn thing over to Rick. Zach's voice was clearly his on the short recording; surely, they could use it to keep him behind bars a lot longer. Rick had enthusiastically thanked him, and they copied the file onto Rick's computer at the station.

But then, Daryl had visited Beth in the hospital that night, and his fury had risen up. She looked so small and frail, lying in that damned bed. He'd been happy to see that her oxygen mask and breathing tubes had been removed, but her lip was still swollen and there were a couple of stitches in it from where she'd taken a hard hit to the face. Her nose was bruised and her chin had little healing cuts on it from where she'd been nicked by glass. Every time he saw her, it was like the first time in the hospital all over again. That version of Beth didn't match the one from his memory, and it caused him pain and stress.

After Daryl got home that particular night, the last night he'd actually seen her, he had listened to her message twice more before throwing his phone in a blind rage. It had shattered, to his horror, and his phone company had been taking their sweet-ass time getting him a new one. He'd even driven over to Carol's house and given her his work number, so that she could call him if she had any news about Beth. She hadn't called.

And now, Beth was gone.

She'd left with barely a word, and why should she stay? He didn't have a hold over her. He'd done his best to avoid her and sever their connection. He knew that the letter she'd written to him had been done in a drug-induced haze, and it wasn't like she could know he'd spent so much time at her bedside.

He walked over and climbed back into his truck, staring awhile longer at the cabin, shocked at how it still looked the exact same, even with its very life stripped away from the inside. But then, he realized he should've seen it coming. Why would she _want_ to keep living in that cabin? It would hold nothing but nightmares for her now, just like how his da's trailer had always haunted him. Even as a man, he'd get flashbacks of being whipped, cussed at, kicked, spit on… it was terrible, and the very reason he'd moved.

Beth's cabin was sure to hold the same types of ghosts; how could she sit in her living room and not remember the horrors of being sliced up by broken glass and chased? How could she go to sleep at night in the room where that asshole had broken through her door and assaulted her?

The more Daryl thought about it, the more it made sense that Beth had left. After all, the shit left in the cabin was probably riddled with bad memories for her, and she'd mentioned to Carol once in the grocery store, the day he'd been eavesdropping, that there was someone still living in her apartment back in Chicago. With Zach off her tail, she could go back there and live the better life that she had created for herself. She could go on living, pretending that her stint in Georgia was just a bad nightmare.

He started his truck up, beginning to feel the numbness seeping through his body. It wasn't from the cold, though. He was emotionally shutting down, like he did when he was a kid and his da had gone on rampages. Daryl had been reprimanded for showing his feelings, kicked for cowering in fear. He'd learned, early on, the art of survival; the means of shutting down.

Now was one of those times he needed the survival.

He drove through the dark to his da's trailer. He'd only been at his apartment the last few days because he had been bone-tired, and since he couldn't afford two electric bills at once, he'd shut off the electricity to his da's, which made the tin can hardly any warmer than it was outside. He was too weary tonight to head all the way back to his place, so he drove to the trailer, intending to crash there just one more night. After that, he didn't care what the fuck happened to the place, he'd never look back. With Beth gone, there was no reason to, anyhow.

As Daryl pulled into his driveway, something reflected in his truck's beams, and his heart clenched. Beth's Jeep was parked on the side of the trailer. He hadn't stopped to wonder why the Jeep had been missing from her place if she'd planned on flying back home, but apparently she had decided to leave it with him for now. If she intended to keep it, then that meant she'd probably have to come back and claim it. She might send her brother in law to drive it back up north; but in the off-chance that she came in person to obtain it one day, then he might get the last look that he so badly needed, after all.

His mood stayed bleak, even with such a thought floating around in his head, because really, it would only be hard if she came back one last time; he'd probably be almost over her and then she'd come back and tear him open all over again. She'd never be back to stay.

When he parked his truck, he got out and walked over to her Jeep, running his hand across the hood. It was cold; she'd dropped it off an hour ago or longer. He looked it over, foolishly hoping for some kind of a note to be sticking out from somewhere; last words from her so that he'd know what to expect. But there were no letters, and her doors were locked.

Daryl looked back over to the trailer, wary of walking through the door. It was always unlocked and she knew that. He'd probably find the keys lying on his table with the note he so badly sought. The idea should have comforted him, but it made him only feel emptier knowing that she had been _right there_ just hours ago, and he'd missed her yet again.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected or hoped for when she finally recovered. He hadn't decided if he was going to take a chance at being part of her life, or if it would just be better that he parted ways like he'd been trying to all along, especially now since the yearning to touch her had intensified.

Before she was in the hospital, he'd thought about wanting to reach out and lay his hand on her face once or twice. The couple of times his flesh had come into contact with hers, whether by her choice, his, or accidentally, he had burned with her phantom touch for hours. While she was lying in the hospital, though, he'd comforted himself by putting his hand on her hand, to feel her warmth and reassure himself that she was still there; still Beth. But he'd done it over and over again, feeling the soft skin on the inside of her wrist with his calloused fingers, kissing her forehead, running his hands through her blonde hair, stroking her delicate fingers; so much, that he feared he'd become addicted to it.

At first, he had worried that if anyone caught him, or if she'd somehow woken up, that it would come off as him being creepy and he'd be the proverbial monster being chased out of town with torches and pitch forks. He didn't have any right to touch her and fret over her like her friends and family did, and he definitely hadn't gotten her permission. Once he did it, though; once he dropped that barrier and let himself hold her hand in that dark, empty room and admit to himself amid the dull buzz of her machines that she meant so much _more_ to him; then it didn't feel so wrong. Putting his hands on her skin came more and more naturally as the days wore on.

But therein laid the problem; Beth hadn't consented, and after his last round of anger at the bar, and her subsequent reaction to him in the grocery store, he wasn't really sure where they stood in relation to one another. She could have left the hospital and meant to never speak to him again, for all he knew. And she sort of had, hadn't she?

Everything was so fucked up; _he_ was so fucked up… and like most everything else in his life, he had no one else to blame but himself.

"_You're_ _gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon_."

She'd never understand how true her statement was; he missed her enough when she was actually _there_.

He climbed the steps to his da's trailer slowly, the exhaustion finally taking hold of him again after the hour of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he'd raced back with the stupid hope that he'd catch Beth before she left; as though he was living in some kind of fucked up fictional chick flick. If Merle had been around to witness his insanity, he'd have kicked Daryl's ass all the way to Sunday.

A sad smile graced his lips as he put his hand on the doorknob and found it locked. Only Beth would be kind enough to lock up a trailer so trashy and ugly. His vision blurred while he looked for the right key on his key ring, and he wiped at his eyes, growling, "Fuckin' stupid."

He knew she'd be the end of him.

He finally got the door open, and he flipped on the light as he let the door swing closed behind him. He did a double-take when he realized there was a color that didn't belong in the room, something that hadn't been there before: White.

It was a fucking blanket. Beth's giant white goosedown comforter was heaped on his da's ugly orange couch in a heap, looking like a pile of pure snow in a landfill. Was he so fucking hopeless that she'd left him her blanket to comfort him at night? Maybe she'd noticed that he didn't have any covers on his da's bed and that his pillow and a ratty throw blanket had been lying on the couch from when he'd been sleeping there. Suddenly, he greedily wondered what else she might have left there for him; what other mementoes of her she'd left him to remember her by.

He dropped his keys in the bowl and jumped back against the door as the blanket moved.

Suddenly, there was a grumpy grumbling, and someone sat up on the couch, blonde hair askew, and a small hand covering a bruised face against the brightness of the lights he'd switched on.

So many strange emotions flooded through him that he tensed up; relief that she was there, shock that she was asleep in his da's cold empty trailer, anger that she'd put him through so much worry, elation that he might finally get a chance to _not_ be such an asshole to her. He clenched his jaw, locking down on all of the impulses running through him.

"Daryl," she breathed, once her eyes had apparently adjusted to the brightness, "I thought you moved."

"I though' you left," he responded, immediately regretting his clipped tone. Her question had sounded awestruck, his sounded like an accusation. But no one had ever been able to charge a Dixon with handling feelings real well, and Daryl was no exception. Over the past 3 weeks, Beth had managed to run him through the wringer, up one end of the spectrum of emotions and down the other; and he finally felt like he was coming unraveled.

"I was going to…" she said, looking down at her hands as her sentence drifted off, unfinished.

He'd imagined lots of ways seeing her again would go, and this wasn't it. He shifted uncomfortably, sticking his hands in his pockets. He wanted to smooth down her unruly hair or rub his thumbs on her cheek. But now that she was awake, he didn't know where she stood with everything, and he was too much of a fucking coward to just put himself out there and see what happened.

"Why didn' you?" he whispered. He genuinely wanted to know; he needed her to tell him that she had stayed because of him, or their friendship; something. His question had seemed to come out more menacing than he meant it, though, and he was frustrated that he wasn't better at talking to her. She deserved more than what he was capable giving her.

She frowned and then pulled something out from under the blanket, holding it up for him to see. Laughing a little, he watched as her big blue eyes overflowed with tears. "I was packing, and I thought I'd take a few of the stuffed animals with me from the hospital, since I was going to have to leave all of my beautiful flowers. I dumped them all out on my bed, and this cranky mutt was staring up at me. It looked just like the dog in the woods that chased me down the day that I met you. I felt like… like it was a sign. A sign that I shouldn't leave. "

She looked at him then, staring, with something unsaid left hanging in the air, but he wasn't sure what. He _did_ know that while he'd been panicking, stressing, racing over to her place, and battling his own self-conscience, that stupid fucking stuffed dog had done all of the damned work and saved the day for him. He was both mildly irritated at it, and unbelievably thankful.

"I'm sorry I'm in your space," she said quietly, looking down at the dog gripped in her hands. "I just… I chose to stay at the last second, so my family had to fly back home. I thought I would be fine in the cabin by myself," her voice hitched and he stepped forward, but she never looked up at him. "I wasn't, though, not in the dark. I didn't want to wake anyone up, and Steve told me you'd moved out and into an apartment, so…" she shrugged, leaving the rest of her story unspoken. There she was. The end.

"You shouldn' be here," Daryl said softly.

"I know, Daryl. I'm sorry," she responded.

"No, I mean… 's too cold. I hadta shut off the electricity las' week. You're gonna get sick, sleepin' in here."

"All the shit we've been through, and you're worried about a cold taking me out?" she asked, looking up at him with humor alight in her eyes.

"I can't beat a cold outta ya," Daryl said, not thinking. He clenched his jaw as soon as the comment left his mouth; he'd meant it as a joke, but with all of the shit that had just happened with Zach, it was a stupid fucking thing to say to her.

Instead of being dragged into some dark recess of her memories by his statement, though, Beth just grinned at him. "You're damn sure stubborn enough to try it, though, Daryl Dixon." She threw her head back and laughed. He'd never heard anything sound sweeter.

"Get your stuff," he told her, grabbing his keys back out of the bowl.

Sobering up, she shook her head at him. "I can't go back to the cabin right now, Daryl. I'd rather freeze to death in this trailer than sleep in that cabin tonight."

"Nah, I'm gonna take you to my new place," he said, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. Instead, she smiled at him.

"I'd love to see where you live now," she responded.

"I got it a few weeks ago," he told her. He wasn't sure why it was important to him that she knew, but it was. "I was on my way t' tell ya the night that…"

"Oh," she said, pausing from folding her comforter to look at him. "So you never got my call? You were just near the cabin and heard everything?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his face whiskers anxiously. He did not want to discuss her voicemail or the terrible sounds that still haunted him in his sleep; not at all.

Beth smiled at a thought as she went back to folding her blanket.

"What…?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking that those angel wings sewn into the back of your leather vest are pretty fitting."

He felt his face begin to burn at the compliment; he wasn't used to compliments.

"You done, yet?" he deflected gruffly. "You've got so damn much stuff lyin' aroun', it looks like you were ready t' just move on in."

"There isn't that much," Beth scoffed, stuffing everything of hers into a pretty small duffel bag to prove her point.

Once she'd put her shoes and jacket on, flung the bag over her shoulder, and gathered the giant comforter in her arms, Daryl opened the door and stepped aside to hold it for her. She smiled at him as she walked past, and he inhaled her coconut scent. He almost steadied her as she walked down the steps, concerned that she couldn't see in front of her with such a large blanket. She could take care of herself, though, he reminded himself, resisting the urge to be a douche.

He walked past her once they were in the yard, and opened his truck door for her since her hands were full. She threw her blanket and bag in first, and then grabbed the roof handle to pull herself up with. Unable to help himself this time, Daryl laid a hand on the small of her back to give her a boost. Once she was sat in the seat, she smiled at him like she knew something he didn't. The smile was too mischievous; it made him uneasy.

"Fucken' squatter," he muttered at her, shaking his head as he slammed the door and went around the truck to climb into the driver's seat.

As he pulled out of his da's yard, Beth had rearranged herself so that her bag was by the door, and she was sitting more in the middle, spreading out her comforter to wrap up in it. He finally reached over and turned the heater on, hoping the truck would warm up before they made it back to his place.

He'd gotten back on the highway and was driving when he felt part of the blanket land on his legs. He looked over to see her staring forward out of the windshield with a small smile on her face. He felt the déjà vu from when their roles were reversed after he'd fallen into the river, and he'd been the one to cover her lap when she'd been driving the truck.

It seemed like years ago.

Finally, he pulled into his parking lot and shut the truck off. Beth was curled in a ball in the seat with the top of her head pressed against his thigh. Staring down at her sleeping form, he couldn't help but notice the difference in the way she looked now compared to how she'd looked back in the hospital. Her cheeks were full of rosy coloring, instead of white and pale, and even her features seemed more defined and dynamic. There had been so much _life_ missing from her back in the hospital, and that had been the hardest part of visiting her; mourning her as she laid right in front of him.

He shook her shoulder gently, trying not to jostle her too much; he didn't know what the limitations of her healing neck were. "Beth, we're here…"

She woke up, looking around at their surroundings. "These are nice apartments," she said softly, stifling a yawn.

"Thanks," he said, feeling awkward.

They climbed out of the truck, Daryl taking on her mountain of a blanket. She followed him quietly up three flights of stairs until they got to his apartment. He unlocked the door, since it automatically locked as soon as it swung closed as a security measure, and they stepped inside.

He suddenly felt really embarrassed to have her in there. He'd gotten the place weeks ago, and there still wasn't a stitch of furniture in the place. All of his worldly possessions were in a pile on the floor of his closet.

"I _love_ what you've done with the place," she quipped, turning to shoot a teasing smile his way. Even faintly bruised with a gash on her bottom lip, she looked beautiful.

"I jus' haven't had th' time, alrigh'?" he grumped back at her.

She nodded, seeming to have shifted into a more somber mood.

"I've been doin' a lotta overtime," he felt the need to explain.

"I suppose that makes sense, since you lost a few days of work sitting around in jail," she said with a bitterness that surprised him.

"Wasn' no big deal," he lied.

She tightened her lips in disagreement, but didn't argue with him.

"So, I guess we're going shopping for furniture for you in the near future," she said, changing the subject.

He snorted, "Looks like a week o' firsts. Firs' time buyin' furniture, firs' time in jail…" _first time buying a girl a stuffed animal, first time shooting another human with his crossbow, first time kissing Beth even if it was just on the cheek._

"Really?" she asked, "that was your first time in jail?"

Her question sounded innocent enough, but it made him mad that she seemed so surprised. "Is tha' wha' you think o' me?" he growled at her.

"Well, no, I just… You know, I figured there might've been something. Not even the drunk tank…?"

He glared at her from under his bangs by way of answering, back to feeling like a redneck asshole in her eyes. Then, she shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Well, my daddy's even been in there for that once or twice. I just didn't know. I'm sorry."

Her excuse did its trick, as Daryl felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He could tell by the way she talked about him that Beth's dad meant a lot to her. He'd never known what that felt like.

"It's fine," he said, grabbing her bag off of the floor for her and making his way back to his bedroom. "C'mon."

As they entered the room, he heard her walk out from behind him and do a slow circuit around the perimeter. "Where on earth are your sheets? Blankets? A pillow, perhaps?"

"I tol' you," he said, feeling his cheeks heat up again, "I haven' had the time…"

A small, affectionate smile played at the edges of her lips, and she laughed a little. "I can't even be surprised. This is so _you_. Too manly for silly things like blankets and pillows. It's almost like comfort makes you uncomfortable."

"You're one t' talk," he responded, "squattin' in an abandoned trailer w' no electricity an' shit."

She smiled at him again, and he stared at her for longer than a heartbeat. Finally, she was the first to break eye contact as she waded out onto his floor mattress. "Jeez, this thing is so hard; it's like sleeping on concrete." She bounced a little on it, walking in circles. "So, which side do you prefer?"

"I'm takin' the floor," he said, unable to wrap his mind around sharing a mattress with her; even a shitty one.

"You don't have to do that, Daryl, it's big enough for both of us. I don't mind."

"You _jus'_ said it was practically the same as sleepin' on the floor," he pointed out, satisfied with the shade of pink that her cheeks turned upon being called out.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes. Go t' sleep," he said, turning to leave and give her privacy.

"Wait," she said, "where are you going?"

"The floor in th' livin' room's no different than the floor in here," he said, turning back to her.

"Then, there's no reason you can't sleep on the floor in here…" she answered, nervously biting the uninjured side of her bottom lip.

He was about to refuse her, until he realized that this would be the first night that she'd actually be sleeping of her own free will, rather than in a forced coma. She had fled her warm, cozy cabin to escape nightmares of Zach, and being in a strange place devoid of anything comforting was probably unnerving to her.

He felt strange about the idea of sleeping in the same room, but finally, he nodded his head. The worry on her face dissolved into a smile, and she flung herself forward and hugged him around the waist.

Daryl was taken aback at her sudden display of affection, and found that he was slightly uncomfortable with it; he could probably count the number of hugs he'd ever gotten in his lifetime on both hands. But it was Beth, so he did what he promised himself he was going to do for her; he _tried_. He laid one hand on her upper arm, and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. The motion felt awkward and clunky, like he was the Tin Man in need of a heart.

She pulled back, her hair tickling his nose and sticking to the fuzz on his face. He chewed on the inside of his cheek awkwardly. What the fuck do people say to each other after they hug? Thanks, that was a good one?

She saved him from his squirming by sitting on the mattress and arranging her duffel bag on the floor, near the head of the bed like a makeshift pillow.

"Here you go," she said, patting it for him.

"I don' need one," he replied.

"Just take it. It'll make me feel better about having the mattress all to myself."

He grunted at her, but acquiesced as he kicked his boots into the closet, flipped off the bedroom light and settled down on the floor, pillowing his head on her duffel bag. Even the duffel bag smelled like Beth.

He could see her smiling in the dark from the street lamp dimly shining through the blinds on the window. She fluffed her giant comforter in the air a few times to straighten it out, and then let it flutter down over both of them, half on her and half on him.

"I don' need a blanket, neither," he grouched at her. He didn't know how to handle her attention. He imagined it's what being coddled probably felt like.

"Quit your bitchin'," she told him, but he could hear the smile in her words.

They settled down into a comfortable silence, and Daryl rolled onto his back, putting one arm behind his head.

"I bough' you th' stuffed dog," he told her thickly, staring up at the ceiling, thankful that it was too dark to see her eyes or her expression.

"I know," she whispered.

"How?" he asked.

"There was something that drew me to him; he's special, just like you."

"I'm nothin' special," Daryl corrected her.

"You are to me," Beth said simply, reaching down beneath the blanket to twine her fingers with his.

He swallowed nervously, feeling like an epic shift had just taken place; something that couldn't be undone.

Something that would change him for the course of the rest of his life.


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: Well, I am going to begin by saying sorry for the longer-than-usual turnaround time for this chapter. However, now that the holiday vacation is well and truly over, I've got a variety of projects I need to start working on for the convention, which puts my production time for this story in a smaller timeframe. Since it takes me an average of 6 hours to write, re-read, and completely edit an entire chapter, I'm going to shoot for twice a week updates. If I happen to finish another project a bit early one week, then I can devote more time to this, but we'll just see how it goes.**

**Anyway, as always, I loved reading all of your reviews. I'm so glad everyone was happy with the outcome of the last chapter. I felt like actually having her leave would have been a blotch on a bond that was hard enough for them to forge in the first place; I didn't want to make it seem too impossible to come back from or anything. The hospital gave Daryl the distance I wanted him to have to start sorting through his shit. I had a lot of new followers and favoriters, too, so thank you and welcome! =)**

**As in any other chapter, even the ones I forgot to say it in, I do not own the Walking Dead or any of its characters. I will be infusing some lines into this one, not because I'm stealing content, but because I love to twist it around and use it for my own situations as an ode to the show.**

**So, enjoy!**

**Chapter 18**

Beth abruptly awoke to a terrible, gut-wrenching sound: the obnoxious blaring of an alarm clock.

She unintelligibly grumbled as she shot straight up in bed, clasping her hands over her ears to block out the grating noise. She looked around the empty room with bleary eyes, squinting at the hallway light barely streaming in from the cracked bedroom door.

"Shit," Daryl muttered, lunging from where he'd been crouched in his closet digging out clothes for the work day. He slammed his hand down onto the snooze button on the alarm clock that was sitting on the floor in the corner, plugged into the wall.

"That's a terrible way to wake up," Beth grumped as she rolled herself back into her comforter like a burrito. _Her_ alarm clock came with the feature to play music of her choice, so she always made sure to program it with a peppy, energizing song.

She heard him snort at her.

_No wonder Daryl was always so grumpy if that's how he woke up every morning_, she mused.

"Too bad, cuz you gotta get up anyway," Daryl told her as he made his way to the door with his folded clothing in hand.

"Why?" Beth whined, not bothering to move from her warm spot. It must've been an ungodly hour, and without the steady schedule that her job had provided, she'd lapsed into enjoying her bed late into the morning. At least, before the couple of weeks where she'd been unconscious all day, every day.

"'Cuz I hafta go to work," he said, pausing to look back at her.

Sitting up, she huffed stray hair out of her face and glared at him. "And?"

"…And we gotta get goin'," he said like it was an obvious fact.

She realized he wasn't planning on leaving her there while he was gone all day. "Why don't you want to leave me alone in your apartment? Are you afraid I'm going to steal all of your cool stuff?" She smirked at him, feeling mean.

He glared at her from under his bangs and said, "Well, aren' you a damned ray o' sunshine in tha mornin'?"

"This isn't _morning_," she argued. "This is before morning was ever _conceived_. What time is it right now anyway?"

"4:30," he answered, smirking at her.

Her mouth dropped open, aghast at his cruelty. _Roosters_ don't even get their feathered butts up at 4:30 in the morning!

"Why are you doing this to me?" She moaned, dropping her head onto her bent knees.

She heard him chuckle at her distress before he came over and stood at the foot of the mattress, staring down at her.

"Fine then, you wanna stay here with nothin' t' do all damned day, be my guest," he said gruffly, but his words didn't hold their usual bite.

She lifted her head and looked up at him, a small grin adorning her lips. "So, it's take your crazy comatose neighbor to work day, is it?"

"You f'rgot squatter," he muttered, shifting his weight like he was antsy, "an' anyway, that's not what I was thinkin'. I figured I'd just drive us t' the shop an' then you c'n have my truck for the day. I won' have time righ' now t' drop you off at your Jeep; but we c'n go after I get off."

"Don't you have your brother's motorcycle, too?" She asked, sidetracked from their initial conversation by the memory of seeing him ride one around town once or twice.

"Yeah, I jus' have it 'til he gets out o' the pen. It's sittin' in the garage near the trailer, anyway. I hadn' found a place t' keep it at just yet." He narrowed his eyes at her." Why? Thinkin' you were gonna ride that aroun'?"

"Probably not if you want it kept in one piece," she said honestly. She'd never been on a motorcycle, but she doubted she'd have the knack for it.

Daryl grunted and flipped the bedroom light on. She squealed and covered her face as he left the room. She heard him chuckling as he shut the bathroom door.

_Jerk_, she thought, trying to contain her smile.

She got out of bed stiffly, stretching her muscles and yawning. Finally, she pulled on the spare set of clothes she'd packed when she'd set out for the trailer last night, and then made her way into his kitchen to see if there was anything in there to eat.

All he'd had in the way of breakfast foods were eggs and bread. She'd laughed when she found only one skillet in his cupboards, and only one pot.

Daryl Dixon certainly wasn't what most people would consider _dating material_, judging by his enough-for-one approach to life. But she found it strangely endearing about him; such a grumpy loner.

Based on his flip-out that night outside the bar, Beth was almost willing to bet that he'd never planned on really being with anyone, though; he didn't seem to think anything better would be coming along for him, or that he deserved someone good. The thought brought down her mood.

She was nearly done with the scrambled eggs when Daryl finally emerged from the shower. He was dressed in his grey mechanics shirt that had the shop's logo embroidered over the front pocket, and some black cargo pants that had seen better days. His dark hair had been towel-dried, so it was still slightly damp and looked nearly black. It stuck together in clumps, hanging in his face and sticking up around his head and ears. She hadn't realized she'd been looking him over for an inordinate amount of time until he crossed his arms uncomfortably and narrowed his blue eyes at her.

"What're you starin' at?" he grumped.

To mask the butterflies that had erupted in her stomach, she grinned and replied, "I've just never seen you so clean before, that's all."

He scowled at her then, but his surly expression only made her laugh.

After they ate breakfast together in companionable silence, they piled into Daryl's truck and headed off for the shop. Beth muttered a few pointed remarks about the temperature and the early hour, but Daryl seemed to ignore her complaining, except for reaching over to turn the heat on.

Pulling into the parking lot of the shop, Daryl swore under his breath and said, "They're here early." He turned the truck into a parking spot close to the entrance and put it in park, leaving it running.

"A'right," he said, fiddling to get his work key ring separated from his other keys. "My apartment key is on here in case y'need it for somethin'. I guess, come back an' pick me up aroun' 5…"

He'd trailed off awkwardly as he held his keys out to her, not bothering to meet her eyes. Beth could tell that they were in some weird, unheard of territory for Daryl. Giving some girl the keys to his apartment and his truck; he was just trying to be helpful, and she didn't want to read too far into it. But still, it was progress. Amazing, beautiful progress.

Suddenly, a loud thud against the driver's side window made them both flinch, and Daryl swore under his breath as Oscar's round face came into view. Oscar pressed both hands against the window, looking in at them with a dawning grin spread across his face. As he pressed his nose up against the glass, Daryl hit it from the other side with the butt of his fist. Beth could tell he was irritated.

"Ow," Oscar's muffled voice said, backing away from the window.

As Beth opened her door, Daryl asked, "Where are you goin'?"

"Just to say hi to the guys," she said, smiling broadly at how uncomfortable he looked with the idea.

As she climbed out and walked around the other side of the truck, Daryl's other co-workers were making their way across the lot, hooting and hollering at her appearance like it wasn't 5:30 in the morning. Daryl got out of his door, too, scowling, and she could see that his ears were a bright shade of crimson. Was he _embarrassed_?

"I thought you was on a plane, Jeep girl," Oscar said, enveloping her in a huge, friendly hug.

"I was getting ready to leave, but…" she trailed off, not sure as to how much they already knew, or how much Daryl even wanted them to know. He was a pretty private person with his business.

"BUT… you stayed for my D-dawg over here," Oscar finished, wrapping an arm around Daryl's neck and pulling him to the side. He glanced over at the murderous look on Daryl's face, thought better of his outburst, and smoothly removed his arm.

In unison, Ian and Steve gave out an exaggerated, "Awwww…"

"Uh…" Beth stalled, a treacherous blush assailing her cheeks. She and Daryl hadn't discussed anything yet; not about the night Zach had found her or anything beyond that, so she didn't want to say anything out of line and make Daryl skittish. They were in new territory, on unstable ground. She wasn't sure where they stood yet. Regardless, he had to know, didn't he? He had to know that she'd stayed because of him; because the thought of leaving him had been like a knife in her chest.

"I knew it!" Oscar said, grinning at Beth. "Man, this asshole jus' about _disemboweled_ me tryin' to get more information on where you was at when I stopped over at his crib last night to tell 'im about your phone call."

"I'm gonna disembowel you for real this time, if you don' shutthefuckup," Daryl snarled at him.

A huge grin broke out over Beth's face as she watched Daryl glaring daggers at Oscar. He was so uncomfortable that he was becoming aggressive. It was Daryl's go-to when he was feeling too vulnerable, just like the night at the bar. It meant something.

Saving everyone from Daryl's temper, Beth stepped over and put a hand on his arm. "I'd better get going," she said, smiling at him.

His bicep tensed deliciously under her hand, but he glanced down at her and the retribution left his face to be replaced by a much gentler look. He chewed on the inside of his lip, and nodded at her briefly. "A'right. See you t'night."

"See you at 5," she confirmed, smiling up at Daryl's pensive blue eyes as she pulled herself up into the driver's seat.

"See you at 5," "We'll be here!" "Later gorgeous," came the chorus of over-the-top good-byes from the crew.

Smiling in admiration at all of them, she blew them a pretty kiss and then shut her door.

She watched them all walk away from the truck, and she could tell by their body language that Daryl was going to have a very long day.

As five o'clock drew nearer, Beth's anticipation swelled. Her whole day had seemed to go by in a flash, but she'd managed to pack a lot into it. After leaving Daryl's shop, she had driven to Joe's Diner where Sasha had thrown her hand over her mouth in shock and then run at Beth to give her a life-threatening hug. In her haste, Sasha had managed to shatter two plates, which had been sitting on the dish towel that she'd forgotten to let go of as she raced over. Beth helped her clean the mess, and then sat and ate breakfast. A few hours later, Sasha had called in replacement help and threw her apron behind the register; it was a day to shop and celebrate. They called Carol and Lori, and the four of them met up to have some quality time.

She and the girls spent all afternoon shopping in Atlanta, just as they had the day Daryl had gone and put gravel in Beth's driveway. At 4:30, as she finally drove away from their heartfelt goodbyes and thought back to the tearful reunion and fun-filled day, Beth _knew_ beyond the shadow of a doubt that _this_ is where she belonged. She knew she'd made the right choice in staying; her grumpy little stuffed pooch hadn't led her astray.

She pulled into the shop's parking lot at fifteen-'til, and left the truck idling. Even once the sun had risen in the sky, the temperature hadn't budged much. Beth cupped her hands to her mouth, blowing into them for warmth; she should have thought to pick up a pair of gloves while they were on their shopping spree.

Beth jumped a little when her door suddenly opened from the outside; she hadn't been expecting Daryl for awhile yet. He stood patiently while she unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted into the middle of the seat to give him room to get in; it was his truck, after all.

Despite the freezing temperatures, Daryl had carried his jacket out with him. His work shirt today was sleeveless, something she hadn't noticed this morning with his jacket on. His toned arms were streaked in grease and sweat, and he smelled like motor oil, steel, and car engines; if indeed someone could smell like all of those things. She found that she actually liked the way he smelled.

"How was your day?" she asked conversationally.

He shrugged as he threw the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot. "Long."

"I got together with the girls," she said without waiting for a prompt, "did a little bit of shopping."

As he steered onto the highway and headed back towards her town, he eyed the mountain of bags on the passenger floorboard. "Your d'finition of 'little' needs some tweakin'," Daryl responded.

"Well, they aren't all for me," Beth said, grinning.

He glanced at her and narrowed his eyes before averting them back to the road. "I don' even wanta know…"

Beth laughed a bit, and figured that while he was trapped in the tiny space with her, it was the best time to bombard him with what she did. Short of stopping the truck to kick her out, or throwing himself out while he was speeding down the highway, he couldn't get away from her.

She began rooting through bags, and pulled a few up onto the seat that she knew contained his items.

"Look, it wasn't anything big," she began, and he groaned, cutting her off.

"I knew I didn' wanna know," he said.

"What you did last night was really sweet, Daryl. You didn't have to give me a warm place to sleep, or give up your bed, but you did anyway. And even though I don't remember any of it, I suspect that you did a lot for me when it came to the night Zach broke into my cabin, too. And the little dog and the gravel…" she trailed off. There were just so many unsung good deeds that he'd selflessly graced her with; she feared she'd never be able to repay him.

"I just wanted to say thank you. It's not enough yet, and I'll think of other ways, too, but I thought this might be a start."

"Wasn' nothin'," he said quietly, paying too much attention to the road and his mirrors, avoiding her eyes.

"But it _was_," she argued gently.

When it was apparent that he wasn't going to meet her gaze or say anything else, Beth pulled something out of the first bag.

His curiosity got the better of him and he glanced down at the green fabric encased in shiny plastic. "What is that?"

"Sheets," she said, grinning from ear to ear as he barked out an honest laugh.

By the time they pulled up to her cabin, she'd shown him the whole line-up of merchandise she'd purchased that afternoon. She'd tried to think of everything from forest green sheets, curtains and a rod, to a new brown and tan comforter, some pillows, lots of grey and black towels in a variety of sizes, and even some more cooking utensils. She'd gotten rugs for his bathroom, a brushed nickel toothbrush holder, a shower curtain with an abstract grey, white, and black design on it, and two mats for the inside and outside of his front door so that he wouldn't track anything in on his clean carpet.

He'd just grunted at most of it, and she doubted that he really cared a whole lot about coordinating color schemes or design elements for his rooms; but when he had a warm bed to slip into at night, pillows to lay his head on, and a rug that soaked the water up from under his feet when he got out of the shower, well… he'd be happy for it, whether he wanted to be or not.

To her relief, Daryl shut off the truck once they were in her driveway and he came around to the other side to help her with her bags. She left everything behind that was for him, except for the sheets; those, she was going to wash first.

Once she got her cabin door unlocked, she pushed it open with shaky hands and stood at the threshold, staring into the darkness.

Zach was in Boston, she reminded herself. He was in custody; he couldn't hurt her again. But then she thought back to when she'd been told that he'd be going to trial for killing some poor girl… She shuddered.

She flinched a little when she felt something touch her. Until she realized the warmth of Daryl's whole hand was resting on her lower back, under her jacket and seeping into her skin through her shirt. She looked up at him with wide eyes to find that he was already staring down at her intensely.

"You a'right?" he asked.

Having him so near gave her a dose of bravery, and she wasn't even lying when she smiled at him and said, "I will be."

It only took him a second to become uncomfortable with their proximity, despite the fact that he'd been the one to initiate it, and he stepped back, removing his hand.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Where d'you want these?"

"In the living room is fine," she said, watching him walk passed her with his other arm full of shopping bags. His jeans were usually a little more baggy on him in the back, but the black cargo pants he'd pulled on that morning accentuated his ass nicely; he had a red handkerchief hanging out of one of his back pockets and it rhythmically slapped the back of his thigh as he strode to her couch. She grinned a little as she followed him.

He turned after he laid her items on the couch, frowning at the grin still plastered on her face. If he knew she'd been checking out his ass, they'd both die of embarrassment, so she wiped the grin off of her face and raised her eyebrows innocently.

He narrowed his eyes at her; he never trusted her. She doubted he trusted anybody.

"So, would you be in the mood for some dinner? I can whip something up," she offered, dropping her stuff on the floor next to the couch.

"Nah," he said, not even bothering to think it over.

"Oh come on," she pressured, "you just got off of work. You must be hungry."

"Starvin', actually," he admitted. Then he added, "but that's exactly why I won' be eatin' any o' the crap you'd _whip up_. Shit's for rabbits."

She scoffed, dropping her jaw. "My cooking is _delicious_!"

"Says rabbits," Daryl shot back, a smirk at the edge of his lips. It seemed the tables had turned on them at some point, and now he enjoyed getting a rise out of _her_.

Glaring at his challenge, she pointed to her table filled with flower arrangements. "You'd better sit your ass down and get comfortable, Dixon. You're in for the meal of your life."

Awhile later, after digging through her pantry and cupboards, trying to come up with a viable meal plan, she threw in the towel and turned around to concede to Daryl, who sat smirking with his arms crossed in her only tiny kitchen chair left.

"Well, Maggie and my daddy used up most of my food, thinking I wasn't going to be staying, and it looks like whatever had been left in the fridge had gotten thrown out. Raincheck, though… Another day, I'm gonna cook you a damn good meal whether you like it or not," she said, pointing her finger at him threateningly.

"I'll be sure t' sleep with one eye open," he said, smirking at her more.

She glanced over at the clock on her stove, remotely thankful that she'd had the foresight to get all of her bills set up on automatic payments before the chaos of last month happened. It looked like her electricity hadn't been disconnected the whole time she'd been in the hospital. The glowing blue letters read "6:03 p.m."

"The grocery store will be open for a little while longer," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Or we could eat at the diner."

"Nah," he said again, standing and stretching his spine. Apparently, he found her chair uncomfortable.

She was all out of ideas; it looked like her evening with Daryl had come to an end. She hated the idea of being alone in her cabin, but couldn't muster up the courage to ask him to spend the night again. It happened on a whim last night; it was inappropriate of her to take advantage of his kindness twice in a row. She should've gone ahead and asked one of the girls to let her spend the night at one of their houses for a few nights, just until she was back on her feet, but she'd never found the right opening all afternoon.

Realizing the only option she had left was the trailer; she hoped that Daryl would go home and not discover her this time. With the thought of that morning fresh in her mind, she remembered that she'd walked out and left her comforter in Daryl's apartment; she'd completely spaced on grabbing it before they departed for the shop. She had a few extra blankets at the cabin, but nothing significantly warm.

She'd either be spending a frightening night alone in her cabin, or a damn cold one in Daryl's dad's trailer.

She was looking forward to neither option.

"Hey Daryl," she said nervously, hoping he didn't see through her. "Um, I left something over at the trailer last night. Do you… do you care if I stop by and grab it before I go to bed tonight?"

His eyes lit up a little at the mention of it and he replied, "I still 'ave some food left in there, actually. I'll drive us over."

She figured it was fine; he could drive her, bring her back home, and then when he left for his apartment that night, she could sneak back over there. No big deal. So, she agreed.

Once they were in the trailer, Daryl opened up all of the blinds to let the light from the full moon stream into the tiny space. He knew where to find a flashlight, and even pulled some large ugly candles out of a drawer in the kitchen; no doubt all things that Daryl had taken care of when he'd first moved in. He lit them and scattered them around on the kitchen counter, and even though Beth knew he had done it to ward off the dark, not to be romantic, her stomach still did flip flops at the way his eyes glowed golden in the candlelight.

She was abruptly jerked out of her girlish staring when he unceremoniously tossed her a loaf of bagged bread, which hit her chest, jostled against her useless hands, and then finally fell to the floor. She'd never been good at hand-eye coordination, even when she _wasn't_ being distracted by dirty thoughts.

"Jus' dig through the cabinets," he instructed. "Pull out wha' you find. I needta bring it all t' my place now, anyway."

She set the bread on the clutter-free table and went to do as he bid. The first cabinet she opened was top to bottom with large, empty jars. She pulled one out to inspect it and realized it was filled with clear liquid.

"My uh… my da' used t'make illegal moonshine outta the shed back in the trees," Daryl told her, eying what she found.

"My daddy always said bad moonshine can make you go blind," she answered. She wasn't sure what else to say.

He just grunted in response, and went back to pulling jars and cans of food out of his set of cupboards.

Before she thought about it too much, Beth unscrewed the lid and took a sip. Her face crumpled as the stuff burned its way down her throat. The first breath she let out even felt like it scorched the insides of her nostrils. "That's disgusting…" she said, laughing a little.

She took a couple more mouthfuls, and realized that unlike good liquor, this stuff didn't go down easier with repetition. She pulled another one out of the cupboard as Daryl watched her with a guarded look on his face.

"Might wanna take it slow," he said.

"This one's for you," she replied, holding it out to him.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, looking away from her. She could see his jaw clench; he was stressed about something, but she didn't know what.

"Why?" she asked.

"Someone's gotta keep a clear head," he answered, "or we'll never get outta here t'night."

She took another swallow of her jar, feeling like it was just the release she'd need to calm her nerves after the past month. Maybe she wouldn't care about being in her cabin so much if she was drunk.

"So, what? You're like my chaperone now?" she asked, smirking at him.

He grunted at her again, not rising to the bait, and said, "Just… drink lots of water."

"Yes _Mr. Dixon_," she said, taking another swallow.

He stepped back from his cupboard, eying her. His glowing eyes bore into her while the rest of his face remained mostly in shadow from the candles at his back. She shivered as she stared back at him, and she could feel the warmth of the alcohol crawling across the inside of her body.

He took three steps until he was standing right in front of her, in her space, just like he had when she'd run into him at the grocery store after the incident with Ed. He looked down at her just as intensely as he had back then, studying her face, his hunter's eyes taking in all of her features individually. She felt her chest swell, and her heart was pounding in her throat. Then he took the unopened jar out of her hand, unscrewed the lid, and downed half of it.

Half an hour later, they'd each had plenty to drink, and whatever tense moment they'd shared in the kitchen had passed. On the table sat a variety of open jars and cans, everything from jelly to pickled pigs' feet, as well as a couple of liters of Coke that had remained unopened.

Despite the fact that they could now see the white puffs of their breath floating in the air, Beth no longer felt the bite of winter.

Daryl had watched her closely as she made a circuit around the trailer, looking around at anything that bespoke of Daryl's long lost childhood; anything that stood out as his, just to glean an idea of what he looked like or enjoyed doing as a kid. Sadly, there were no pictures on any walls, and she didn't see a family photo album or any other type of heirlooms anywhere.

"You grew up here?" she asked, ungracefully stumbling over a broken clothes hamper.

"Yeah," Daryl said, never taking his eyes off of her. She had a feeling that she wasn't the only one whose barriers had come down when the alcohol flooded in.

"It's only one room, though, isn't it?" she said, seeing only two doors in the back hallway, knowing one must be a room and the other a bathroom. The trailer wasn't wider for much else, though.

"I slept on th'couch," Daryl told her. "Or the floor, if Merle was home."

Beth stumbled into something else covered by a ripped couch cushion. She knelt down to pick it up, and laughed. It was a giant ceramic pink bra, straps and all, that had been modeled after a very busty lady. On the inside, in heaps, were old cigarette butts that had never been cleaned out; there must have been hundreds in there.

"Who'd go into a store and walk out with _this_?" she scoffed, holding it up for better inspection against the candle she'd left on the coffee table.

Daryl snorted and walked over, taking another drink out of his jar of moonshine. "My da', that's who."

Beth realized she might've been offensive, and she grimaced a little. Daryl noticed her apologetic look and waved it off.

"Ah, he was a dumbass. He'd set stuff like tha' up on the T.V. set; use 'em as target practice."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "He shot things inside your house?"

Daryl shrugged, unfazed. "It was just a bunch o' junk, anyway."

"This place is jus' like any other trash heap," Daryl said, looking around with a smirk on his face. "You got your dumpster chair; that's for sittin' in, in your drawers all summer, drinkin'," he said, pointing at the green recliner that was tipped over sideways with stuffing coming out of it. The first time she'd been in his trailer, she didn't think everything had been so… beat up, now that she reflected on it.

Daryl continued, bumping his foot on something plastic that the candlelight didn't reach. "Got your fancy buckets. That's for spittin' chaw in," he told her. Then he lifted the corner of his mouth in a teasing grin, making light of what he was telling her, "after your old lady tells you t'stop smokin'."

"You got your…" He looked around for something else, grabbing a handful of newspaper off of the floor, and said, "your internet."

She smiled genuinely at his attempts at light humor, but as she watched, his face took on a note of sadness as he looked around at everything.

"Home, sweet home," he whispered, taking another drink of his moonshine. She followed suit, unsure as to what she could say to make any of it better.

His face tightened in anger suddenly, and he flung his now-empty jar into the hallway where it hit the closed bedroom door and shattered.

"Come on, Daryl," she said, fighting her way through the trash to get to him. "Don't do this. Don't let this place get to you."

"I hated comin' back," he said, shaking his head. "I fuckin' hate this place!" He grabbed something heavy off of the floor and threw that across the room, too, where it collided into the T.V. and brought the whole stand crashing down. Beth flinched at the noise; realizing she was still made anxious by the sound of breaking glass from when Zach had attacked her.

"I wish this place had jus' burned t'the fuckin' ground," he spat, his chest heaving in his rage.

Beth, who felt like she needed a hug as badly as he looked like he needed one, threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

"Tha' small bar that separates the livin' area an' the kitchen," Daryl said slowly, his voice low and raspy. "Sometimes, my da' used t'make me put my hands on the edge o' it when he beat me. He'd just start hittin' me across the back w'somethin', an' if I moved or made a noise…" She heard him swallow the lump in his throat in the silence.

She closed her eyes against the images that his admission conjured up, squeezing him as tight as she could, as though she was physically able to hold him together. He ran his hands over his face, and then gently grasped her wrist to pry her arms from him. He grabbed another jar of moonshine off of the counter and then went outside.

Beth wasn't sure if he wanted space or privacy, but she felt like even _she_ couldn't stand to be alone in there with the ghosts of his past. So, after a second of hesitation, she followed him out.

He sat on his makeshift porch against a railing, already taking gulps of his moonshine. She sat down cattycorner to him with her back against the trailer, looking out over the yard to where the shadows of the trees swallowed the moon's light, shrouding everything in darkness.

He sniffed, seemingly unperturbed that she'd been around to watch him lose his cool, if even for a moment. The silence stretched out between them, until Daryl said softly, "Merle had this dealer… this janky little white guy; tweaker. One day, we were over at his house, watchin' T.V. It wasn' even noon yet; we were all wasted… Merle was high. We were watchin' this show, an' Merle was talkin' all this dumb stuff 'bout it. He wouldn't let up," Daryl snorted a little, swishing his moonshine around in the jar, staring as the moonlight gleamed off of the surface. "Merle never could."

He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting a little uncomfortably, but Beth stayed silent, watching him; showing him that he had her full attention.

"Turns out, it was the tweaker's kid's favorite show. An' he never sees his kid, so, Iunno, he felt guilty 'bout it or somethin'; so he punches Merle in the face. So I started hittin' the tweaker like… hard. Hard as I could. An' he… he pulls a gun; sticks it right here," Beth shook at the chill that went up her spine as Daryl aimed a finger at the side of his temple. She could see the scene playing out behind her eyes, heart heavy for the younger version of her sweet Daryl, with a gun barrel pressed up to the side of his head…

Daryl continued, "an' he says 'Imma kill you, bitch.' So Merle pulls his gun on _him_, everyone's yellin'; I'm yellin'," He shook his head then, smiling a little at the memory coursing through him. "Thought I was dead. Over a dumb cartoon 'bout a talkin' dog."

Beth could scarcely breathe, and she realized he didn't intend to continue, trapped as he was in the past. "How did you get out of it?" she whispered.

"Tweaker punched me in the gut; I puked. They both started laughin'," Daryl replied, snorting. "… Forgot all 'bout it."

Swallowing, Beth could only manage to stare at him as he brought himself back into the present. He looked at her square on, then, his eyes glittering white and hard, like ice, in the moon's glow.

"You wanna know where I was before all o' this? Before _you_?" he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. "I was just driftin' aroun' with Merle, doin' whatever he said we were gonna be doin' that day. Some redneck asshole with an even bigger asshole for a brother… "

He looked down at his moonshine again, breaking eye contact.

"I was nobody," he whispered. "Nothin'."

The air was heavy, but the clear alcohol burning its way through Beth's veins gave her the courage to speak in the face of his degradation. "You're not _nobody_ anymore, Daryl. You're _somebody_ and _something_, especially to me, and that'll never change."

He looked up at her from under his bangs, and although he didn't accept her words, he didn't reject them, either.

"Places like this," she continued, looking over her shoulder at the trailer in question, "you have to put them away. For good."

"What if I can't?" he whispered, eyes boring into hers; the tension from the kitchen was back full force.

"You have to," she whispered back, "Or else it kills you. Right here," she added, leaning over to lay her hand flat against his chest, over his heart.

"We should go inside," he said abruptly, breaking eye contact and severing their connection.

She was worried she'd lost him; he'd been right there at the cusp, and she'd let him fall right back into the awaiting arms of his demons. She wasn't sure how to help him, exactly. The place seemed to carry nothing but horrible memories for him. She could help him clean it out and try to sell it, but she doubted it would sell without some work and money put into it. And even if it did sell, it would still be sitting there, forever a reminder of the bloody past of his broken childhood.

As he stood up, a wild, insane thought occurred to her, and she blurted out, "We should burn it down."

"What?" he said, pausing to look down at her, as though he hadn't heard her correctly.

"We should burn it down," she repeated. "Just light it up, get rid of it. Cleanse your life of it."

He stood there frowning at her, and she was afraid she'd made an error in judgment. Maybe there had been some good memories there for him after all; maybe he was still attached to the place and wouldn't be able to ever let go of it for good.

Finally, he responded, "We're gonna need more booze for that." She smiled drunkenly at him as he held down his hand to help her up.

They'd cleared all of the moonshine out of the cupboard, unscrewing the lids, and laughing as they splashed it around the trailer. Daryl threw a few at the wall that shattered on impact, the moonshine going everywhere. In their drunken states, they'd barely had the forethought to blow out all of the candles before lobbing alcohol around with them inside, but they _had_ managed it, so that was something.

Beth twirled, sending her moonshine out in an arc, getting some on Daryl. He glared at her and splashed her back, making her squeal at the coldness of it and laugh as she ran away. She promptly tripped over something on the floor, or her own feet, she wasn't sure which, and went down. She could hear Daryl chucking from the other end of the room.

Finally, most of the place had been covered in liquor, and they both made their way to the door. Right before exiting, Beth grabbed the empty glass bowl that Daryl usually kept his keys and wallet stashed in by the door.

"What's that for?" he asked, eying her loot.

"I wanted something that reminds me of you," Beth said, hugging it to her chest.

Daryl took it from her gently before turning and flinging it like a Frisbee at the trailer, where it hit the side and shattered on impact. "Wasn' mine," he told her. "We'll find somethin' else."

He pulled the red oil rag out of his back pocket, dipped it halfway into an empty moonshine jar, and screwed the lid onto it; to give the rag some throwing weight. He held the lighter out to her and asked, "Wanna do the honors?"

"Hell yeah," she said, flicking the lighter a few times before a flame caught. She held it to the rag and lit it up.

Daryl swung his arm back and lobbed the jar at the open doorway, where it crashed on impact in the side of the trailer, and everything inside began to catch fire. Before even a minute had passed, the whole thing had erupted in flames.

"I'm glad it's been raining a lot," Beth said softly, grinning up at Daryl. "We might've lit the forest on fire."

"I'd've though' o' that, first," he said. But as he swayed on his feet a bit, Beth wasn't so sure he was right.

As they both stared at the fire engulfing the trailer, Beth boldly held out her middle finger to it. _Fuck this place_, she thought triumphantly.

Daryl hadn't noticed her, so she smacked him lightly in the stomach. He flinched a bit, looking over at her. Then a smirk graced his lips, and he turned back to flip the trailer off, too. They stood like that another minute before they realized it was probably wise to get out of there.

They both climbed into his truck, and Beth briefly remembered that the shirt she'd forgotten was still laying in the trailer somewhere. As he backed out of his driveway, he threw out an explicative and slammed on the brakes.

"I forgot Merle's fuckin' bike," he said, jumping out of the truck.

He ran to the makeshift garage on the side of the trailer, nearly falling over his own feet twice. Beth laughed at him; she couldn't believe how drunk they both were.

Daryl was in there a few more seconds than Beth had been comfortable with, but when he finally came out of the garage, he had a heavy-looking bag slung over one shoulder. He was mounted on the bike and walked it out of the doors before starting it up. Once he was coming down the driveway, Beth slowly backed the truck onto the road. She was thankful that they were the only two who lived on that road, or within miles, as she could hardly see straight. She drove the truck all of 20 miles an hour back to her cabin, and Daryl followed at the snail's pace.

She glanced in the rearview mirror once, smiling at the sight of the flames licking the edge of the sky, attempting to consume the very moon itself.

Finally, they pulled in and made it up to her cabin. Upon entry, Daryl dropped his bag on the floor behind the door and it made a loud crash as metal bounced and clanged together within. At Beth's questioning gaze, he muttered, "Couldn't ditch my good tools…"

She laughed at his sullen face, and for the first time, his lips curled up in a genuine smile for her.

"You're lucky you're a happy drunk," he said softly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Some people can be real jerks when they drink."

She grinned at him to take the sting out of her words, but he merely smiled, looking down at his boots. "Yeah… Sometimes I'm a dick when I'm drunk."

"Sometimes you're a dick when you're not," she retorted, stepping closer to him.

This time, it was her invading his space, but he didn't step back or break their eye contact. Beth wrapped her frozen hands in the front of his shirt and pulled herself up onto the tips of her toes. She felt his whole body shudder as she brazenly pressed her lips to his.

She felt his warm hands cup the backs of her elbows, trapping her close. She melted into him, and together they floated off into a drunken, hazy oblivion.


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: This chapter is short and sweet, but... I thought something was better than nothing.. ;)**

**As always, thank you for all of the reviews! You all rock. Thanks, too, for anyone who has newly followed or favorited the story. You mean a lot!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**Chapter 19**

Daryl began to drift into consciousness because of the vicious pounding inside his head. He was unusually warm, and he could feel softness pressing into the front and back of him as he lay on his side, his head pillowed on one arm. He inhaled deeply and imagined it was what the beach would smell like; coconut, warmth, and sunshine.

Something under his other arm stirred, and his eyes shot open to find that his face was buried in a mass of smooth, light blonde hair. He froze, slowly lifting his head up to look around. Daylight was streaming in through the windows, and though Daryl was fully dressed, the lithe body that he had his arm slung over was wearing nothing but tiny purple shorts and a white lacy bra. He let his eyes wander along the smooth expanse of her skin for a few seconds, until he felt like a pervert and shifted his gaze.

He was lying aligned along back of the couch in Beth's living room with Beth herself curled in front of him, her round ass pressed back against his very prevalent morning hardness. He panicked, not sure how he was going to maneuver out from behind her without waking her up and humiliating them both.

Just then, the pounding noise happened again, only Daryl realized it wasn't coming from inside of his head; it was coming from the front door. The sound was loud, echoing through the cabin, and Beth finally began to stir. Daryl's only two options were to either climb over her and risk waking her, or lay there until she woke up on her own. Before she could come fully into consciousness, he picked the lesser of two evils and climbed out from behind her. She rolled back into the emptiness of where he'd been and became fully awake. She sat up, not facing him, so Daryl turned away and took the second he had to adjust himself in his pants. How the fuck did they get _here_?

The knocking happened again, and Beth rolled off of the couch, did a silent double-take at Daryl standing in her living room, and then began walking for the door.

She was so groggy, she hasn't realized she wasn't dressed.

Daryl cleared his throat, feeling his ears and neck begin to burn. "Uh, Beth… hold up."

When she turned back to him, he averted his face and scooped her shirt off of the floor at his feet, holding it out to her.

She squeaked and snatched it out of his hand. The knocking persisted, and he heard her bare feet slap against the hardwood as she jogged to the door.

He considered sneaking out of the back just to avoid an awkward confrontation with her whenever she came back, but was he that much of a fucking coward?

His mind wandered to the feel of her pressed snuggly up against the entire front of him, and he became antsy. He glanced at the backdoor, pacing; maybe he could be a coward. Just this once.

He looked around the living room, but couldn't find his boots or socks anywhere; and his truck keys weren't in his pocket, either. Escaping would do more harm than good; eventually he'd have to come back for his stuff and face the added embarrassment of having run away.

He heard her pull the front door open and Beth's startled voice said, "Sheriff Grimes!"

Daryl froze. What on earth could Rick be there for?

Just then, like a flood, the discombobulated memories of last night slammed into him and Daryl had to sit down at the onslaught. Fuck, _what had they done last night_?

He could hear their muffled voices coming from the doorway, so he stood up and walked into the front room, feeling like he was in a daze. This could _not_ be fucking happening.

Rick stopped midsentence as Daryl approached; Daryl knew what they must look like. With his surely disheveled hair, wrinkled clothing, and bare feet, and Beth; well, Beth was in nothing but that thin shirt he'd handed her and the shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass; it looked like they'd been sleeping together.

He felt a little guilty for the implication, even if he hadn't done it on purpose.

"Daryl, your trailer," Beth said to him wide-eyed. "It burned down last night."

Holy shit, _did she not remember_? It was even _her_ fucking idea. If Rick caught even the faintest whiff of it being their fault, though, they could be facing some serious arson charges; especially with it being in the middle of the woods like that. Looking back on it, it was kind of a stupid thing for them to do, even for two drunk assholes.

"Shit," Daryl said smoothly. "We must've left a candle burnin' after we grabbed my stuff yesterday afternoon."

Right before Beth threw both of her hands over her mouth, as though in shock, Daryl caught the huge smile threatening to give them away.

So she did remember. Clever girl.

Rick cleared his throat, and Daryl caught sight of Shane glaring at him from over Rick's shoulder. "Do you mind if we ask you two a few questions?" Rick asked.

"Of course not," Beth said, having composed herself. The seriousness of the situation must have sunk in and dampened her mood. She swung the door wide, stepping back to let them both enter.

Daryl glowered back at Shane as he came over the threshold, glaring at Daryl with a look that promised retribution. They'd always hated each other, but after Daryl got off on the charges for attacking Zach, Shane had gotten more personal about it.

The burned down trailer was going to be hard to get passed them.

"I'm going to go throw on something… warmer," Beth told them, blushing as she glanced at Daryl and then away. She left the three of them standing in her living room, all eying each other suspiciously.

"Where were you last night?" Shane said, sneering at Daryl.

"Here, obviously," Daryl quipped back.

"Guys, cool it," Rick said, turning to look pointedly back at Shane.

Beth left her room wearing a pair of light pink sweatpants that hugged her long, curvy legs. She'd run a brush through her hair, and she looked gorgeous despite the fact they'd only woken up five minutes ago.

"Can I get you guys any tea to drink? Or water?" She asked politely, smiling at Rick and Shane.

They both said they'd take a bottle of water, and Daryl's eyes accidentally wandered to her perky ass as she walked into her kitchen; it had ANGEL written across the back in bold, white letters. He felt his stomach clench, and he averted his gaze before either of the deputies caught onto what had his attention.

When she came back from the fridge, she handed each of the men a bottle of cold water, including Daryl, even though he hadn't asked for one.

She and Rick sat on the couch comfortably together, while Daryl stayed on his feet near Beth's elbow, and Shane stood his ground from the other side of the coffee table.

"We'd gotten a call that someone had seen the smoke early this morning," Rick began.

"I'm surprised you two didn't see it; seeing as how close together you live and all," Shane added, the accusation clear in his voice.

"We obviously overslept," Beth said pointedly, narrowing her eyes up at Shane.

"Up late, were you?" Shane remarked.

"Very." Beth retorted, flashing white teeth at him in a grin that implied all kinds of things that made Daryl's neck burn in embarrassment.

Rick, looking as uncomfortable with the turn in conversation as Daryl was, turned back to Beth and asked gently, "Can you tell me where all you were yesterday?"

Politely, Beth smiled at Rick, ignoring Shane's aggressive stare. "Well, I woke up at Daryl's apartment," she said, pausing to let that implication sink in, too. "Then I drove into the diner in Daryl's truck, since my Jeep was still here, along with the motorcycle."

Daryl was impressed with how smoothly she was lying to the cops, about his motorcycle already being there; making it look like it hadn't just suspiciously been moved from the trailer recently. She was _good_, and something about her lying to the law for him, after they'd gotten drunk and committed arson together, sent Daryl's stomach twisting into tighter knots.

"Sasha, Carol, Lori, and I all took a trip to Atlanta for the afternoon. Surely Lori mentioned it?" Beth asked. Once Rick nodded affirmation, she continued, "Anyway, we shopped most of the day, but then I left to go pick Daryl up from work around 4:30, 4:45. Surely his boss and co-workers could attest to that, as well."

Daryl groaned inwardly. The shop. He was supposed to be in to work that morning; they didn't even have a way to get a hold of him to call and see why he wasn't there.

"After that, Daryl drove to his trailer to grab some of his overnight stuff, and then we came back to my place. We've been here all night."

Rick nodded, contemplating her story.

Beth bit her lip, looking down at the hands she had twisting on her lap, and said, "I've just been… well, I've been too scared to stay in the cabin by myself for now. All the stuff with Zach… It's still a little fresh, you know?"

At her vulnerable admission, Shane broke his stare at Daryl, shifting uncomfortably, and Rick's face seemed to relax from its guarded expression. "Yeah," he said slowly. "That's understandable."

"I'm sorry about the trailer," Beth said quietly. "The electricity was out, and I lit a bunch of candles so we could see while Daryl was grabbing his stuff. I thought I blew them all out, but… maybe I forgot one of the ones in the bathroom or something. Nothing else burned down, right? No forest fires or anything?"

"No," Rick said, patting her hand consolingly, "the forest is fine. Don't worry about it, Beth. Things happen. I can see it was an honest mistake."

As Rick rose and thanked them for their time, Daryl released a ribcage full of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding on to. It looked like they weren't going to bother asking him anything at all. The word of sweet, innocent little Beth was enough to exonerate the both of them, it seemed.

Daryl followed Beth as she walked them to the door. Shane exited without another word or glance at either of them, but Beth put her hand on Rick's arm before he turned away from her.

"By the way," she said sweetly, "I wanted to thank you in person for everything you did when it came to Zach. My daddy filled me in on most of it; finding out his prior crimes, his fake name, all of it. I've been having a rough couple of nights, but knowing Zach is in Boston awaiting trial… well, I'll sleep better at night in no time."

Rick frowned at Beth, which, to Daryl, seemed a bit out of place in the face of her gratitude, but then Rick said, "No one told you?"

"Told me what?" Beth asked, glancing back at Daryl. He shrugged his shoulders; he had no idea what Rick was referring to.

Rick shifted a little, bracing himself, and said, "Zach is dead. The helicopter that they were flying him to Boston in had a mechanical malfunction. It went down en route, and only one of the pilots survived."

"Oh my god, that's terrible," Beth breathed, putting a hand over her open mouth.

Daryl, the asshole that he was, didn't feel terrible about it at all. That prick got exactly what he deserved; to die in an eruption of flames while strapped to a metal gurney. Daryl hoped the fucker had suffered. Plus, that way, Beth would never have to relive her fear in another 15 years if Zach got pardoned early for 'good behavior' or some stupid shit. That he was gone for good was a relief.

Daryl looked at Beth's sad face and hated that she was so kindhearted as to actually shed tears for the sick fuck that had attacked her. He stepped closer to her, not sure what she needed from him. She turned and pressed her face into his shoulder, wrapping both arms around his waist as though she'd done it a million times before. Awkwardly, he wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders and glowered at Rick from under his hair; daring him to comment.

Rick's mouth quirked up in an odd sort of smile, to Daryl's surprise, and the sheriff said, "I'm sorry to have bothered you, and about the news I had to bring. You folks have a good day, alright?"

"Thanks," Daryl said, feeling genuinely confused at the other man's change in demeanor.

As Rick pulled the door shut behind him, Beth looked up at Daryl with a tearful face. "I wished for this," she said, sniffling. "I'm a horrible person, Daryl. I wanted him dead so that he couldn't…"

"Stop," Daryl told her. "I wanted tha' fucker dead worse than you did. If he could've died by thought alone, it would have been me who'd 'ave killed 'im."

Beth nodded, stepping back out of his embrace, and began wiping her eyes on her shirt sleeves. She laughed a little, pulling in deep, steadying breaths, as she said, "I'm such a mess. I get out of the hospital, and in two days, I've managed to become a squatter, get you drunk, convince you to burn down your dad's trailer, make you late for work, force you to put up with me… Lie to the _POLICE_; Lori's husband, of all people!"

Daryl chuckled at her, "Yeah, I ain't never seen anyone get out o' an arson charge scott-free like tha'. It's too bad y'were born in a nice part o' town; you'd have made a great criminal. You're a natural."

Beth laughed a little at his teasing, and smiled up at him. "That _was_ really fun," she admitted.

"Wha' was?" he asked.

"Burning down the trailer," she whispered, grinning.

"It was, wasn't it?" he agreed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling back at her.

Suddenly, as Daryl stared down at her big blue eyes, he recalled one of his last memories of the night; Beth pulling herself up by his shirt to plant her lips against his.

He felt like she was too close all of a sudden, and abruptly stepped back, severing the connection. "I'm late for work," he grumbled, looking around the room for his boots. He found his keys lying on top of the bag full of tools that he'd left by the door, and both socks were on the small couch in her front room. One of his boots was in the entrance to the kitchen, and the other was lying underneath the table.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how they'd gotten kicked off in such a haphazardly fashion.

Once they were on, he grabbed his keys and bag of tools, and bid her goodbye.

She called his name as he got to her yard, and he turned to see her at the top of her steps. "Thanks, by the way," she said.

He nodded briefly, not entirely sure he wanted to know what all she was thanking him for. Hopefully, she didn't remember anything about last night that he hadn't.

Once he pulled into work, he hopped out of the truck and strode across the parking lot, feeling antsy. He knew Ron would be pissed; he didn't put up with slackers.

Oscar and Ian were busy changing out a muffler underneath a sedan, when they caught sight of him walking up.

"Wow, you look a little worse for wear," Ian said, standing from his prone position underneath the carriage. "Isn't that the same shirt you were wearing yesterday when that gasket broke and leaked oil all over you…?"

"Same pants, too," Oscar said, before his face lit up. "Oh shiiiiit!"

Ian frowned at his excitement, and Daryl made a beeline for the front door, trying to escape what he knew was coming. As soon as he walked into the lobby, Oscar and Ian were pouring in through the side door.

"Walk of shame!" Oscar shouted at him.

"What?" Mark asked, looking up from the computer. "Oh, hey Daryl. Everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Daryl grunted back.

"Dude's wearin' the same clothes as when Jeep girl picked him up in his truck yesterday," Oscar announced to everyone. "Walk. Of. Shame! Am I right, Holmes?!"

Daryl could feel his neck burning, but all he said was, "Shut up."

At that, Ian and Oscar broke into laughter, high-fiving each other for managing to make Daryl uncomfortable. Daryl rolled his eyes and looked over at Mark, who was also a little red in the face. The boy was too damn shy; he wasn't even the one being razzed and he was embarrassed.

"I didn't sleep with Beth," Daryl said, irritated.

"Whatever," Oscar said, slapping him on the back. "You're in pretty deep; I've seen it. You're so fucked."

He and Ian chuckled as they made their way back into the shop, leaving Daryl simmering in the lobby with Mark, who looked like he wished he were invisible.

"Where's Ron?" Daryl snapped at Mark, seeing that Ron's office was open, empty, and dark.

"He's in Atlanta for the day," Mark said. "He called and said he'd be back either tomorrow or Friday. It's been really slow, you haven't missed anything."

"A'right," Daryl said, feeling a little less tense. He grabbed the detailed parts list of inventory off of the counter behind the register and went into Ron's office to use the computer in there. He needed privacy and time to cool down.

The shop finally closed down a quarter after 8. The guys on the evening shift all poked their heads into the office to bid Daryl goodbye as they filtered out for the night. After he'd completed uploading the inventory list, he decided that he'd more than made up for the lateness of his arrival that morning.

Standing, he began clearing Ron's desk off of his afternoon of paperwork. He paused, looking at the phone, trying to decide if he should call Beth. He picked up the receiver and listened to the dial tone for a minute before hanging it back up. She was probably fine. She didn't need him calling her so late at night.

He went into the front to file the inventory list in a quarterly binder they had set up for hard copies, and then locked up all of the cabinets and drawers. He leaned against the back counter, looking once again at the phone sitting by the register. He thought back to the night he'd gotten the terrible voicemail from her, and decided it wouldn't hurt to just check on her…

Daryl went back into the office and sat down at Ron's desk, sliding the phone to him. He didn't know Beth's number by heart, so he began scrolling through the past phone history, hoping that when she'd called the shop two nights ago, it was with a phone listed under her name.

Then he found it; Beth Greene.

Hitting the button to redial her number, he pressed the phone to his ear and bounced his leg as he waited.

After a couple of rings, he heard her soft voice at the other end, "Hello?"

"Hey," he said lamely, "It's me."

"Hi Daryl," she answered, and he could actually _hear_ the damn smile in her voice.

Silence stretched as she waited for him to say something; he was meanwhile gathering up the courage. He didn't want to come off sounding like he was expecting anything from her, or like she was a pity case. He wanted to help, but wasn't sure how to go about it.

"Everythin' a'right?" he asked, clearing the sudden knot in his throat.

"Quiet so far," she responded lightly, her breath tickling the receiver. He pictured her lying on the couch, curled up under blankets. He remembered that her bedroom door was still broken. "You?"

"Uh… fine," he responded, feeling awkward. "Jus' gettin' ready to head out. Since I don' have a phone yet, I jus' thought I oughtta…" he trailed off. Why was it so hard for him to just be normal around her? He didn't stumble over himself around the guys at the shop, or anyone else for that matter.

"Check up on me?" she finished for him, and he could still hear the smile.

"Yeah," he said lamely, shaking his head at himself.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "I have to sleep here sometime; get used to my place again, you know?"

_Not this soon_, he thought. He felt like he wanted her back at his apartment, sleeping next to him on his mattress. It was a weird thing to ask someone, though.

So, instead, he said, "Yeah…"

"Thanks, though, for thinking about me."

"Have a g'night," he said roughly, feeling the conversation at its end.

"You too, Daryl. Sweet dreams."

He grunted at her; his dreams had never quite been 'sweet.' He hung up after he heard the click of her phone being disconnected.

Tomorrow, he told himself, he was going to get a phone, even if it meant switching phone companies and breaking his current contract. They'd taken too damn long trying to fix his phone as it was.

Daryl drove home, glad for the short distance between work and his new apartment. He'd hauled in the bags of shit that Beth had bought for him and laid them near the entrance, not really sure what he was going to do with all of it.

He sat on the floor and began digging through the sacks, pulling out the mats and towels she'd bought for the bathroom, as well as the shower curtain. It couldn't hurt to use them, he thought. He hated that he only had one ratty towel to use and that his showers were always cold and drafty since he didn't have any sort of curtain at all.

After throwing the mats down on the floor without bothering to pull off the tags, and using the hooks to hang the shower curtain on the rod, Daryl peeled his dirty clothes off and took a long, hot shower.

Once he got out and used one of the soft, grey towels to dry off with, he felt like an asshole. He should have invited her over to stay the night. Especially now that he had a comforter and actual pillows, thanks to her.

He padded out into his kitchen with the towel secured around his hip bones. The time on his stove was nearly 10 p.m.

Daryl wasn't sure if she would still be up, but if she was actually afraid of being alone in her cabin, then she was probably wide awake.

He went into his room and stopped at the doorway, staring at her huge white comforter that was still wadded in a huge ball on his bed. Surely she'd need that, wouldn't she? It was pretty cold out now that they were into the beginning of December. She'd probably forgotten it there because he'd rushed her out of his apartment so quickly that morning; or because she'd hoped she'd be coming back.

Walking to the closet, he pulled some clean clothes on followed by a warm jacket; his mind already made up. He folded her blanket into a manageable pile, slipped his boots on, and headed out of the door.

He was just going to drop her comforter off; that was all. He didn't need to see her face-to-face just to make sure she was truly alright. It was just a quick drive and then he could come home and sleep.

As he climbed into his truck and started the engine, he studiously ignored the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

_It was nothing_, he told himself. _Nothing at all_.

He was such a fucking liar.


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: Wooooow, guys.. I feel so terrible about the insanely long wait for this chapter. Life kind of exploded around me, and it has been a long week. Or two? How many days has it been since I've even updated? I don't remember.**

**I had lots of great reviews after the last chapter, and a couple of new followers/readers. Welcome! I promise I usually update quicker than this. Sorry about the fluke!**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.**

**Chapter 20 **

Beth felt her heart skip two whole beats as soon as she heard a late night knock on her front door.

Despite having spent all evening acclimating herself to being home alone in her cabin again, convincing herself that she was safe; the simple knock flung her three and a half weeks into the past and destroyed all of her attempts at peace. That fateful night, she had foolishly swung the door wide open without checking, and Zach had nearly ruined her life all over again.

Back in the present, Beth grabbed an iron candle holder from on top of a little table near the window, letting the heavy weight of it calm her nerves and give her strength. Apparently, she should be investing in some sort of baseball bat in the future.

Steeling herself against the paranoia, she crept across the floor and over to her front window, peeking out.

Sitting in her driveway behind her Jeep was a huge black pick-up truck, and Beth exhaled in relief.

It was Daryl.

She moved to the door and swung it open, catching him already midway down her porch steps, headed back to his truck.

He turned when he heard her, and she smiled at the sight of him with her huge white comforter rolled up and tucked under his arm.

"Daryl," she said in greeting, disregarding how enormously silly she must look to be so happy to see him.

Daryl's eyes drifted over her, pausing on the candle holder still gripped in her fist and he asked hesitantly, "Expectin' someone else…?"

"Ah, no…" she said,embarrassed, laughing as she held up her weapon of choice. "It looks like I'm playing a lonely, life-sized version of Clue, doesn't it? 'It was Ms. Greene, in the cabin, with the candlestick.'"

Daryl only frowned at her like she was a little nutty.

"I'm sorry; I'm kind of rambling, not making any sense. I'm coming down from a panic attack, is all. Forget what I said; let's start over. Did you actually drive all the way over here to bring me my comforter?"

Ignoring her attempt at a conversation reboot, Daryl asked, "I scared ya?"

"Well, not _you_," Beth explained. "The night Zach found me, he'd just walked up and knocked on my door. Since it was kind of late, I'd been worried that it was Carol and something had gone wrong with Ed. So, like an idiot, I just swung the door open without checking. The knocking was just… déjà vu, that's all."

Daryl nodded his understanding and shifted his weight awkwardly, still halfway down her steps. "Sorry. I, uh… I woulda called first, but…"

"Still no phone," Beth finished for him, smiling to show her forgiveness.

"I jus' thought you might need this; it's freezin' out," Daryl said, climbing her steps to hold out the comforter for her.

Beth felt tears burning the backs of her eyes; probably just after effects of her nerves subsiding. "That's so thoughtful of you," she whispered, smiling as she gathered it in her arms.

She backed up, opening her door wider. "Will you come in for a bit?"

"It's late," he said, looking uncomfortable. "You're already 'n pajamas… I think I'm jus' gonna head on home."

"Please?" she asked, recognizing how tiny and pathetic her voice sounded, but there was nothing to be done for it. She wanted him to stay a little bit longer.

Daryl seemed to notice it, as well, because instead of making up more excuses to leave, he conceded and stepped through her door. She kicked it closed behind her and turned the deadbolt.

She felt his warm, calloused fingers brush against her own as he gently pulled the candlestick out of her hand and bounced it, testing the weight. He nodded, and muttered, "Nice an' solid, at least."

"It probably wouldn't have been very practical… just the first thing I grabbed," she admitted, hugging her comforter to her. From being in Daryl's bed for two days, and then his truck, her blanket smelled faintly of engine grease and _Daryl_; and Beth found herself burying her face against it to breathe in more of the comforting scent.

"We'll getcha a handgun; teach you how t' use it," Daryl said, setting the candleholder down on the end table in her front room.

"…Aren't those illegal to have in Georgia without some sort of a license or permit?" she asked.

Daryl snorted, and his blue eyes glittered mischievously as he looked over at her and responded, "What d'you care? You get drunk an' burn down houses for fun. What's an unauthorized handgun to ya?"

"I had _help_," Beth pointed out, narrowing her eyes at him; but her angry demeanor was a ruse, and she couldn't help the smile still tangled in her lips.

The corner of Daryl's mouth quirked up before he turned away to look at some of the pictures hung on her walls, saying, "An' anyway, handguns are only illegal t' carry aroun' without a license. You're allowed t'keep 'em at home for protection, though."

Beth had never shot a gun before, but thought that if having one would make her feel safer when she was home alone, then it was worth looking into. "And you'd teach me how not to shoot myself in the foot with it?"

"Hopefully, that wouldn' need teachin'…" he replied, quirking an eyebrow at her. Their conversation was interrupted by Daryl's stomach, which released a truly monstrous growl.

"Are you _hungry_?" Beth asked rhetorically as she grinned at him.

"Maybe a little," Daryl admitted, laying a hand on his flat stomach. "The police confiscated my bow after I tried usin' it t' rip that fucker's face off, so I haven't been huntin' for fresh game in weeks. I also haven't been t' the grocery store t' shop, an' the last of my food stash was burned t' the ground las' night."

"It sounds to me like I owe you dinner," Beth said. "Lots and lots of dinner."

"You don' owe me nothin'," Daryl told her.

"I owe you everything," she responded somberly, letting her smile drop from her face. The weight of what she said hung in the air, but she meant every ounce of it.

He met her eyes and held them, like he was rarely known to do. She knew that whatever was between them now was different than before; their dynamic was different. What was even more; _he_ was different. She could see it in the way he looked at her, in the way he smiled easier. He was more relaxed around her, less guarded, and definitely a little playful.

As though sensing the directions of her thoughts, Daryl looked away from her, severing their eye contact, and shifted nervously. Although he was still a little uneasy around her sometimes, Beth could tell that they'd made progress. He had even gotten more comfortable with her touching him, which surprised her a little each time it happened.

Reaching out, just to prove the point to herself, she took his rough, calloused hand into her own, and pulled him toward the kitchen. He followed her without a word, and when she felt the pressure of his fingers wrap around hers, her heartbeat became erratic in her elation.

An hour later, Beth wasn't sure if her previous promise to cook him the best meal he'd ever had was entirely accurate since she hadn't planned out a nicer meal or had a ton of provisions on hand, but Daryl had at least certainly devoured two helpings of the manicotti she'd whipped up for them. Since she still only had the one chair, and a table full of flowers that she couldn't find room for, they ate sitting on the couch in her living room.

She hardly ever watched television as it was; the news was always too depressing or fear-mongering for her tastes, and anything else didn't quite hold her attention; she preferred reading or being out of doors. So it was only natural that, as they sat down to eat, she hadn't bothered to turn it on.

Halfway through their quiet meal, Beth had asked Daryl if he preferred it on, only to discover that he didn't watch television, either. His excuse was probably more due to not having the funds for any decent channels, or a working television set, but Beth considered it something they had in common, regardless of the reasoning for it.

Spurred on by that little tidbit, Beth had mustered up the courage to politely grill Daryl about other aspects of himself; foods he liked and hated, places he'd been, childhood memories. She tried her best to stick to topics that were light and comfortable; nothing that would throw him into the deep-end of opening up to her about anything serious. However, many of his answers were kind of depressing; he didn't have a favorite color, he wasn't real big on eating out or trying new foods, he didn't really read a lot, he'd never been on a vacation or even stepped foot outside of Georgia, and he had to really rack his brains for a halfway decent childhood memory to share with her.

Meanwhile, she held back a little bit from talking too much about all of the places she'd been, the books she loved, or the foods she'd tried. However, Daryl had never had manicotti before she'd made it for him, and he'd had no problem diving right into the meal; maybe one weekend, she'd convince him to accompany her to Atlanta and they'd pick somewhere new and different to eat for something fun to do.

After they were done, she walked their plates over to the sink and rinsed them. Then she stored the leftovers in a plastic container and put it in the fridge, already plotting to make Daryl take it with him when he left.

He stood up as she closed the fridge, stretching his limbs. The clock in her kitchen reflected that it was nearing midnight. Daryl would have to be up for work in a matter of hours.

"I'd better be goin'," he said, grabbing his discarded jacket off of the back of the couch. "Dinner was really good, though… Thank you."

"You're welcome, any time," she told him. "Are you sure you want to drive all the way home, though? By the time you get there, it will be even later, and you don't even have a phone. What if you break down or something?"

Daryl smirked a little as he zipped up, "well, I'm a mechanic, so I guess if I break down, I'll hafta fix it."

She smiled a little at his assessment; she supposed she was being kind of silly. It's not like someone would kidnap him if he broke down on the way home, and his truck was probably in pretty good working order, considering his profession.

"Still, you're welcome to stay here for the night," she offered.

"Nah," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You don' need me crashin' on your couch an' takin' up space. I'm sure you don' wan' some guy sleepin' under your roof with you all the time, neither. I'll be a'right drivin' home."

"You're not _some guy_," she corrected. "You're Daryl. Honestly, you make me feel safe when you're close by. Having you stay the night is really no problem; in fact, it's more of a favor to me," she added, laughing a bit.

"You sure it ain't weird?" he asked.

"Positive," she said, beaming at him. She'd worn him down, yet again. He was caving into her will easier and easier as the days wore on. Beth loved that she had managed to soften him up to her. She'd known since she met him that under his rough exterior was a big heart; still, it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed.

She'd tried to pull out the hide-a-bed and put fresh linens on it for him, but stubborn Daryl insisted that her couch was comfortable enough as-is and that he didn't need a big to-do with the sheets. She finally gave in to him, since she'd suspected that Daryl staying overnight had less to do with being tired and more to do with helping _her_ sleep better. They finally compromised by having him sleep on the couch with a pillow and two blankets.

Before Beth settled herself into bed for the night, she brought her alarm clock out into the living room for him so that he wouldn't be running late for work the next day. She bid him goodnight and kissed him on his stubbly cheek before going into her room and flipping off the light. She lay awake for a good thirty minutes, tossing and turning in her bed; antsy knowing Daryl was just in the next room. Before too long, though, she could hear his light snoring through her open doorway, and the sound was just what she needed to drift peacefully into sleep.

That night, she dreamt of nothing and no one, and it was amazing.

The next morning, when the alarm clock in the next room went off at the crack of dawn, Beth got up, threw on a robe, and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee and toast. Daryl was up pretty quickly, obviously not being one to lie around and waste time. Without anything to do to get ready, since he still had to go back to his apartment and do his morning routine, Daryl was ready to go whenever the coffee finished. Beth gave him the manicotti leftovers to take with him, and smiled when he gladly took her offering. He was definitely into Italian food, she noted.

After he left that morning, Beth spent the rest of the day cleaning her cabin and resuming her job hunt. She was determined to stick it out there and reclaim the happy-go-lucky independence that she'd achieved a few months ago upon moving in.

A week had gone by, and she hadn't seen Daryl since that night; however, he had gone out that same day and gotten a new cell phone. He used it to call her around 9 p.m. every evening, just to check in. Some nights, he didn't have much of anything to say, in his usual Daryl fashion. Other nights, though, he felt comfortable mentioning things about work or sharing a funny story about one of the guys. In only a matter of days, the routine felt like it had always been there, and Beth felt both excited and comforted knowing that she could count on his nightly phone call.

Tonight, though, she had another thing to be elated about; it was Thursday, and she was finally going to go hang out with the girls again. She knew Daryl probably wasn't the texting type, but she didn't want to call him in case he was working late again, so she sent him a quick text to let him know that she was going to be at Sasha's that evening. As she figured, she didn't receive a return text.

Beth felt so good about being able to get back out of the cabin and unwind that she took the opportunity to pamper herself more than she had lately; she began getting ready hours before she had to leave, soaking in a bubble bath while blaring some of her favorite songs. Afterward, she straightened her hair, dabbed on a little make-up, and then pulled on a soft chenille sweater with a pair of jeans and boots. The weather was nice and cold; winter had definitely settled in for good.

As Beth was leaving her cabin, she felt little crystals of ice pelting her exposed face, and was thankful that Sasha had offered to let anyone stay the night in case the weather got too bad. Lori lived only a couple of blocks from Sasha, so she wouldn't need to stay over, but Beth would certainly not be taking on the icy roads back home if it came to that. She shifted her overnight bag onto her other shoulder as she unlocked her Jeep and climbed in.

By the time she'd gotten over to Sasha's, the ice was coming down steadily, and the roads had already gotten dangerously slick and shiny. Her thoughts shifted briefly to Daryl, as they were bound to do a couple hundred times a day lately, and she was thankful that his new apartment was close to the shop, even if it meant he didn't live near her anymore.

She dialed his new number and waited; the fluttering in her stomach increased with each ring, until he finally answered.

"Sorry to bother you," she said. "Are you still working?"

"Jus' got home, actually," he told her. "I was jus' 'bout t' call you. Still goin' over to Sasha's tonight? The weather's s'pposed t' get pretty bad."

"I beat it; I'm in her driveway already. She said I could crash here tonight, so I won't have to worry about driving home in it. I wanted to make sure you got home safe, though."

She heard Daryl chuckle under his breath. "It'd take more than a little ice to do in a Dixon," he said.

Beth smiled at the sound of his voice, remembering his stint in the river. He was probably right. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're home safe, anyhow," she said.

He grunted in acknowledgement and then told her, "Call if you need somethin'."

"Alright," she answered. "Thanks, Daryl. Have a good night."

"You too."

After the call disconnected, Beth braced herself for the cold and then jumped out of her Jeep and sprinted for the door. Even Sasha's walkway was a little slippery already, and she almost lost her footing.

She'd barely rung the bell before the door flew open and Sasha yanked her inside.

"I'm so glad you came!" Sasha exclaimed, pulling Beth in for a crushing hug. Then she leaned back and eyed her, asking, "You're planning on staying the night, ain'tcha?"

Smiling, Beth patted the duffel bag slung over one shoulder. "Absolutely," she said.

As the storm raged on, the girls drank Sangria slushies and played cards, laughing as they won and lost small sums of money to each other. The game they taught Beth was complicated, involving a large felt mat in the center of the table, betting on new or used card hands, a round of poker, and then running the cards until they hit dead ends; getting pots of chips based on whether they could lay down high hearts in their hands. The person to go out won the kitty, and then the next round began all over again. The game took a couple of hands for Beth to grasp onto, but once she did, there was no turning back. This was her game.

Halfway through the night, as they were all anteing up for the next round, one of the cell phones in the kitchen began to ring. Lori came back in holding the ringing phone, handing it over to its owner, Carol.

"It's Ed," she said softly. "I'd better take this."

Carol stood from the table and walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, talking consolingly to her jerk of a husband.

Beth frowned at the thought that he was calling at all; interrupting their nice evening. He'd better have a good reason.

Since it was Sasha's turn to deal, she worked to shuffle the deck accordingly, and then began passing out cards to everyone in a clockwise rotation, dealing two hands to herself, as the rules dictated. As Lori came back from the kitchen with glasses of water, they all heard a surprising raise in Carol's voice.

"Don't you dare, Ed!" she said, coming out through the bathroom door. Based on the tone of her voice, whatever was going on wasn't good. Sasha paused her dealing and Beth stood from her chair to go to Carol. The older woman already had streaks of tears down her cheeks.

"Now, Ed, you know I wasn't raisin' my voice to you, it's just… it's late, and it's icy out on the roads. That's why I was goin' to stay at Sasha's house tonight, remember?"

Beth could feel her temper rising; Ed was such a jerk. He was apparently mad that Carol was staying the night, even though Beth knew Carol was the type of person who would have been considerate enough to tell him about her plans beforehand. He was just being a jerk after the fact. Beth was not about to let Carol drive home in that mess, whether _he_ liked it or not. She and Lori shot ominous looks at each other. If anyone liked Ed even less than Beth did, it would have to be Lori.

"Ed, you leave her alone, she's sleeping. It's late! What are you doing?" Carol frowned and more tears streaked down her face. "You're drunk, Ed. You're drunk and the roads aren't safe; don't you dare leave the house with our child…"

Carol's face took on a frightened expression and she shouted, "Ed! No!"

She looked straight at Lori and frantically said, "Ed's dragging Sophia into the car! He's drunk; he shouldn't be driving! Call the station; he needs to be pulled over!"

At Carol's exclamation, Beth could hear Ed's voice get impossibly loud on the other end of the receiver, although she could barely make out what he was shouting.

"Ed," Carol said, pleading into the phone, "please don't do this, honey. I'll come home, okay? I'll come home right now; you just drive back home and let Sophia climb back into her bed, alright?"

Carol moved to grab for her keys and jacket, but Beth put a hand on her forearm. It wasn't safe out there at all.

"I haven't left you," Carol said, clearly attempting to placate an outraged Ed. "I promise, I was just at Sasha's, right where I said I would be. I'm comin' home right now, alright? Please just turn around and… Ed? Ed!"

She looked at the phone and then put it back to her ear, "Ed?!"

Finally, she swung around and grabbed Beth's arm. "Oh God, Beth… I think they were just in an accident!"


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N: Loved all of the reviews! I know that cliffhangers are mean, but... I'm getting used to them finally. Sorry!**

**Anyway, since you had to wait soooo long for chapter 20, I gift you with chapter 21.**

**Enjoy the read, my pretties..!**

**Chapter 21**

An unusual blaring noise woke Daryl from his slumber, the echo of it ricocheting around his empty bedroom. Groggily, he rolled over and ran his hand across the carpet next to his mattress, searching for the offensive noise. As soon as his fingers brushed his cell phone, he grasped it and pulled it toward him.

Despite the fact that he felt like he'd been asleep for half the night, his alarm clock showed that it was only midnight; he'd only been in bed a couple of hours. He squinted at the bright blue screen and sat up when he read the name staring up at him: Beth Greene.

Wide awake, he hit the green button to accept the call and brought the phone to his ear. "Beth, everythin' alright?"

"Daryl, I'm so sorry to do this to you," she said; he could hear the hitch in her voice. She was crying.

He got out of bed, flipped on the light and went over to his closet to start pulling on clothes. "Nah, don't worry 'bout it," he said, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he put pants on. "What's wrong, Beth?"

"It's Carol," Beth said, sniffling into the phone. "She was here at Sasha's with us, and then Ed called her a few hours ago; he was drunk and angry, and he got in the car and started driving. Sophia was with him. While Carol was on the phone with him, though, she heard him crash and the phone cut out. Rick and his people have been out looking for the car for a couple of hours; they finally found it, but…"

"What?" Daryl asked, grabbing his keys and swinging on his jacket.

"Ed was already dead when they got there, but the car door was open. Sophia is missing; she left the car and she's lost in the woods," Beth's breath hitched again, and Daryl felt compelled to go to her. He was already down his steps when she said, "Daryl, I know it's so cold and icy out, and you have to work in the morning… I just… you're a hunter, and I know you're a good tracker. I thought that maybe you could help. I thought you could make a difference in finding her…"

_Of course she thought that_. Daryl's chest swelled with what he imagined was something like pride, knowing that Beth had thought of him; knowing that she thought so _highly_ of him, even. He was a damn good tracker; she had no idea… but she'd still thought to call him.

He'd been such an asshole to her in the beginning; so ready to push her away and be his usual hostile, shunned, anti-social, shut-in self. But she'd just kept coming back for more, and eventually he'd found himself drawn to her. Now, as he started the ignition and let his truck roar to life, he realized that without Beth, he'd still be completely lost in the world. She'd come unexpectedly and found him; shown him a way home, the way to a better life for himself.

If he had to spend every day for the rest of his life paying her back for that gift and making her happy, he'd try his damnedest; starting with finding that little girl lost in the woods.

"I'm already on the road," he told her, backing out of his driveway.

"Oh Daryl, thank you," she breathed. "Thank you."

She told him which part of the highway they'd found Ed's car beside, since that's where ground zero was for the search and rescue crews that had already begun to gather there.

As he drove, his wiper blades slapping the falling ice off of his windshield, Daryl hoped like hell that the little girl had stayed put in the car for awhile before she braved the woods. If she'd left as soon as they'd crashed, which had been hours ago, the freezing weather might turn their search for the girl into a search for her body.

Daryl didn't know Carol terribly well, except for the few times he'd seen her around town, in the bar, and the day in the grocery store after Beth had given him a piece of her mind; but Carol seemed like a nice enough person, and an honest one. She didn't deserve to lose her husband and her only child in the same fateful night.

He finally saw the flashing of red and blue lights up ahead; the highway was crawling with rescue vehicles and probably every squad car the small town had to offer. Daryl slowed down and eased his truck into the emergency lane, pulling up and parking behind a long string of civilian cars; other people like himself who'd been called out to come out to help search for the little girl.

Daryl stuffed his cargo pockets with a flashlight, extra batteries, his lighter, a handkerchief for his face, and a pack of gum. Whenever he hunted in the freezing cold, he always brought gum to chew on, to keep his jaw from tightening up and his teeth from chattering.

He pulled on a warm beanie and an expensive pair of leather gloves that he'd won in a poker game awhile back, before Merle's latest stint in the slammer. Once he made his way into the chaos, he began looking for someone in a uniform so that he could get a little more heads-up on what was going on and figure out which area they were combing.

Before he made it over to the cops, though, a small body collided with his, and arms wound around his waist. "Daryl, I'm so glad you came," Beth said breathlessly, squeezing him.

"I told you I would," he said, putting a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. She released him and stepped back, and even in the hectic lighting, he could see that Beth's eyes were bloodshot from crying. Her cheeks and nose were tinged in red, and her lips looked a little cold, too. She'd been out there awhile already.

"Carol is a mess," Beth told him. "She insisted on coming to help look, even though Rick didn't think it was a good idea. Lori and Sasha are taking turns walking with her. It's just so cold out, and everything is slippery… I've already fallen into three puddles." As though to drive her point home, a shiver wracked her and her teeth clattered together.

"Of course you did," Daryl said, shaking his head at her; that girl was so damned accident prone. "You need t' get your ass inside an' get dried off. You won' be doin' that little girl no favors by losin' a few toes to fuckin' frostbite."

Beth shook her head at him, ignoring his rude tone. "I can't stop now. Sophia will lose more than a few toes if we don't find her, and soon."

Although Daryl was admittedly more worried about Beth than anyone else out there, she was still right. They had to hurry.

"A'right then, get me up t' speed. Where's the car she got out of?"

Beth pointed him into the direction of Ed's blue car that was crumpled against the broad trunk of a tree. As they made their way toward it, weaving in and out through the crowds of people, Daryl took stock of the situation. It looked like the dumbass had lost traction and spun out of control, sliding right off of the road into the steep ditch. Daryl walked over and peeked into the car. Ed's body was gone, but the mess he'd left was impressive. Searching the back seat, Daryl didn't see any sign of Sophia's blood; it was a good sign she possibly hadn't been injured too badly.

"The K-9 dogs keep leading us off that way," Beth told him, pointing northeast of the car's location. "I don't know why Sophia wouldn't have stayed by the road…"

Daryl looked from the car up the steep embankment of the ditch where the highway sat. "Without light, she probably didn' know which way the highway was," he responded. "The acciden' most likely disoriented her; she must've seen her daddy an' jus' took off. Let's move."

Just like the first day he found her, Daryl heard Beth's soft footsteps follow him deeper through the woods. He pulled out his flashlight and turned it on to light his path and keep an eye out for a trail. Thankfully, Beth had a flashlight of her own, as well.

Together, they stepped lightly, occasionally hearing the distant shouts of other searchers calling out Sophia's name.

Finally, Daryl found a broken branch to their left that had a single light brown hair sticking to it. He turned to Beth and pointed at his find; although he could tell by the way she was frowning that she had no idea what he was trying to show her. One day, he'd bring her out there and teach her how to track; just in case she ever got lost in the woods again herself. He'd make sure she knew how to orient herself and find the right way home. Tonight wasn't the time or place for it, though, so he circled around the evidence and headed in the new direction without further explanation.

He'd found a couple of small footprints embedded in areas of the trail where Sophia's feet had sunk into the mud. He was relieved to note that she did have both shoes on, at least. However, as the hour wore on, the weather never quite let up, and the icy drizzle that floated down from the canopy of bare branches above them covered what little foliage was left and weighed it down, making it impossible for Daryl to tell where leaves had possibly been crumpled or disturbed by her plight.

Beth followed behind him silently, except for occasionally calling out Sophia's name in an attempt to locate her. She never complained or whined, but Daryl could tell how cold she really was by the way her flashlight beam was trembling as she used it to scan the woods around them. She was constantly shivering. The one time he'd suggested she head back, though, he hit a wall of Beth Greene stubbornness that rivaled even his own, and he backed off.

He knew she probably felt better searching for the little girl in the freezing cold than sitting around in the warmth of a house waiting for news, though. Beth was a fighter; he knew she wouldn't give up so easily.

Finally, Daryl's flashlight gleamed against a few more strands of hair clinging to the bark of a tree along the path. They were still headed in the correct direction. Off to their right, about 50 yards away, Daryl could see other light shifting from between the trees; the search volunteers didn't seem to be spread out too thin, hopefully, and others were at least going the right direction, too. With some luck, they had a good shot at finding her before the weather took a turn for the worse, as it had been threatening to all week.

Eventually, though, the other searchers seemed to veer off in the opposite direction, and then it was just him and Beth alone again. He paused for a minute to turn around and assess her state; she'd been much too quiet for the last half an hour.

She squinted under the bright scrutiny of his light, but he was disgruntled to find that her lips were tinted in blue, and there was even frozen blood caked in the corner of her bottom lip from where it had split open in the elements.

"Do you have chapstick?" he asked her, tilting the light back out of her face.

"Yeah, do you need some?" she asked, fumbling to get her hand into her jacket pocket. She pulled it out finally and held it out for him.

"No, you do," he said, opening the cap and cupping her chin in his hand to gently apply it to her chapped lips. She hissed a little when the motion disturbed the cut, and a little more blood beaded out from between the crack.

"Sorry," he mumbled, applying some to his own lips, just in case, before replacing the cap and handing it back to her. She fumbled to put it back into her pocket, and he realized that the gloves on her hands were the thin, knitted version, which probably cost her all of $7 at the store, and definitely weren't constructed to keep her hands dry.

He tucked his flashlight under his armpit and clamped his teeth down onto the fingers of his gloves to pull them off easier.

"What're you doing…?" she asked between chattering teeth as he yanked her gloves off.

"Give me your hands," he said sternly. As she complied, he put his gloves onto her hands, pulling them as far up as they'd go; although there was still a good inch or so of leather sticking out passed her small fingers.

"I though' you said y'moved down here from Chicago?" Daryl accused grumpily.

"I did…" Beth responded, staring at him, looking confused by his mood change.

"This the kind o' shit you wore in Chicago in the fuckin' snow?" he asked, throwing her gloves over his shoulder to be surrendered to the woods.

"Well, no…" Beth said, pulling her newly warmed hands up against her chin. "I didn't know Georgia got this cold," she admitted. "I left all of my winter stuff at my apartment when I moved. My roommate made good use of everything, I'm sure."

Daryl grunted, not amused. "All that damn shoppin' you did las' week, buyin' towels an' shit, an' here you didn't even have a decent pair o' gloves on you. No sense at all."

"What about your hands?" Beth asked. "Now yours are going to be cold…"

"That's the first decent pair o' gloves I've ever owned; my hands'll be fine," he assured her, turning to resume their search.

"Thank you," she said, following behind him. "They're nice and warm."

"We'd better find somethin' soon," Daryl said, steering the subject back to more pressing matters. "I really don' think that little girl woulda come out this far, honestly. I've lost her trail."

Behind him, Beth didn't comment, but she did resume calling out Sophia's name. Daryl hoped they weren't closing in on too-late.

In another thirty minutes, the temperature had dropped again, and Daryl could feel the cold nipping at him through his clothes. Their trek finally ended at a creek bed with a steep drop-off. Daryl insisted on searching it, just in case Sophia had been running and fallen blindly down the slope.

He had Beth stand at the edge and shine her flashlight down to help with his descent; but it was pretty precipitous decline, so he told her to wait for him at the top. He slipped a couple of times, his hands not getting the right purchase on the smaller trees sticking out of the side of the dirt wall because of the ice, but he managed not to fall. Getting back up the damn thing, well… that might be a different story altogether.

He paced around near the bank, walking the stretch of the shallow creek bed, keeping his eyes on the water for anything tangled against the current. He didn't see anything that promised insight as to Sophia's whereabouts, though. No blood, no hair, no clothing, no shoes, no prints; nothing.

It took him twice as long to climb back out of the ravine as it took to descend down into it, but he made it out without incident.

"She hasn't been this far," Daryl said, feeling fairly certain about his assessment. "Let's go back t' the last place I saw her trail; look at it from a clean angle."

Beth nodded, and Daryl was certain she wasn't going to last much longer; she was much too cold and under-dressed for an outing like this.

He led them back the way they'd come, searching all around them for more tells of Sophia's trail. Finally, he noticed another snapped branch that he'd missed when they were coming from the other direction. It veered off of the narrow trail they'd been following; the trail Sophia had been on, but apparently turned off of to go crashing through the bushes. Now that he was in there, he could see the evidence that something had spooked her and sent her running; all kinds of branches were broken and twisted, her footprints were spread far apart. He couldn't believe he'd walked right passed the damn thing.

"Now we've got her trail," Daryl said over his shoulder.

Beth called out, "Sophia?! Sophia, honey, it's Beth! Can you hear me? Sophiiaaa!"

He didn't bother to call out, too; if the girl was scared, the sound of a strange man could send her into hiding. It wasn't uncommon. For Beth's sweet voice, though, she just might come out, if she was anywhere close by.

Finally, the trees broke, and they found themselves in a small clearing. The sky above was pitch-black, without so much as the moon or a star in sight. The sleet was still falling, not quite snow, but still drifting down to pelt them in their faces and necks.

He paused at the break in trees to kneel down and locate her trail to see which direction she headed once she hit the clearing. Her footprints, faint here where there was more grass to keep the mud at bay, swerved to the right, keeping the tree-line at her right shoulder as she traveled.

Suddenly, Daryl heard Beth gasp from behind him. "I think I see something," she said briefly before shouting "Sophia?!"

Beth sprinted across the clearing, and Daryl followed her at a slower pace, keeping his light pointed in the direction she was heading.

Then he heard a metal twang, and Beth yelped as she went down, her flashlight beam twirling into the night as it spun through the air and landed away from her.

He jogged forward to where she was sitting, holding onto her ankle.

"What happened?"

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I don't know; I stepped on something…"

Daryl knelt down and realized that the _something_ she stepped on was actually a coil-spring animal trap. Thankfully, it was toothless and small; more for coyotes than bears, but Daryl still feared her foot or ankle might be broken.

He handed his flashlight to her so that she could aim it at the trap. He grasped the opposing insides of the metal with both hands and looked up at her. "When I get this open, pull your foot out, a'right?"

Beth nodded, holding his flashlight in one hand, and gripping the top of her boot with her other.

Inhaling, Daryl yanked the arms of the trap wide, pulling them all the way down until it locked open in place again. Once Beth's foot was out of the way, he dropped a branch in the center of the disk and let the trap snap closed again.

She hissed as she tried to roll her ankle, and Daryl could tell by how white her face was in the light that she was in a lot of pain.

"The damn thing's probably broken," he told her. "Can y'get your boot off?"

He watched as Beth gave her boot a good honest tug, but the color drained from her face and she looked ready to retch. She set it down, shaking her head.

"A'right, let's get you back, then."

"Daryl, wait… I saw something," she said, swiveling her upper body to point across the field to where the woods swallowed everything up again. "Will you go check it out first; make sure it isn't Sophia? I wouldn't forgive myself if we were this close to finding her and then I got my ankle broken and we left her alone out here."

Daryl nodded, agreeing with her reasoning. He handed her back the flashlight that had flown out of her hands, and used his own to light up the ground at his feet. Sometimes, with the smaller traps, hunters would stake out two or three, just to get a couple of animals caught out of a pack, especially if they had been intent on catching coyote. He treaded carefully, keeping his ears tuned into the forest around them, listening for signs of running or crying.

He waded into the thicket that was tangled amid the base of the trees, but there was no sign that Sophia had ever been there. When he turned around and went back into the clearing, he walked to his left, following the tree-line that he'd seen Sophia's tracks near. It looked like she veered out of the clearing halfway through walking in it. He could remember the way back to this spot and resume where they left off; but not until he'd gotten Beth out of there.

Without her ability to walk, she was useless in the search anyway. She'd just be sitting around freezing for no reason.

He went back over to her, careful to keep his eyes on the ground for more traps.

She looked up at him expectantly with her large sky blues, and he couldn't help but notice the small flurries of ice that kept getting caught as they landed on her long lashes. She looked like a snow princess he'd seen on T.V. as a kid once.

"Nothing…?" she whispered.

"Nah," Daryl said. He pointed into the direction of Sophia's tracks and said, "It looks like she circled aroun' the field an' then went back into the woods. I'll come back an' keep lookin', after I've gotten you seen to."

"What?" Beth said, leaning back against the ground, as though she could get out of his reach. "We don't have time to walk all the way back to the highway; and what if it gets worse out here and then you can't find her trail again?"

"Look, you wanted t' stay out here an' help; an' you did. But your ankle might be broken; I need t' get you t' the medics, back at the highway."

He could tell she wanted to argue with him; he understood that she felt like she was letting Carol and Sophia down by needing help now. But like it or not, that's where they were at, and Daryl was done backing down to her stubbornness.

Luckily, she seemed to reason her way through their predicament and arrived at the same conclusion he had; they needed to head back.

Daryl put a hand under her arm and helped her stand up on her good leg. He wrapped his arm around her waist, but even with his support, she could barely limp. They'd be too slow getting back.

He had a better idea, and after stashing his flashlight in his pocket, he knelt down in front of her. "Here, climb on," he said over his shoulder.

"Wait, what? Are you serious?" Beth asked, laughing a bit.

"Yeah, I'm serious. This is a serious piggyback. Come on, now."

Beth, unable to hop or jump, leaned down against his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he strained to stand up, he felt her legs straddle him, and he wrapped both hands under her thighs to help hold her on. The broad was heavier than she looked. He shifted her higher up on his back and then began the slow trek back to the highway.

Closer to their destination, the woods were crawling with people, all shouting for Sophia. It had begun to look like the whole damn town was out there trying to find her. A couple of people offered to help them back to the ambulances, but Daryl refused them. He wasn't handing Beth off to a stranger; he'd only be leaving her in the capable hands of an EMT.

As he walked, Beth's soft face remained pressed against the back of his neck, her warm breath breathing down the inside of his jacket and shirt, caressing his skin, broke his whole body out in goosebumps. She was keeping him warm in other ways, though; which was convenient, since the temperature outside seemed intent on plummeting, and the sleet was coming down at them larger and faster through the tree branches above.

They finally broke through the thickest part of the woods, to where the red and blue lights were still prevalently flashing. A couple of other people were sitting around rehydrating, or getting cuts and scrapes cleaned up. The visibility in the woods was only getting worse, and most of the people there weren't cut out for wandering around in the frigid dark to begin with.

Daryl walked Beth right up to an ambulance, where the EMT inside motioned for him to bring her. Daryl turned and deposited her gently in the open doorway of the ambulance. The EMT knelt down and Beth began explaining what had happened to her ankle.

He felt extra cold where her face and breath had been, and he hated leaving her alone while she was injured, but they hadn't found the girl, yet.

"A'right, I'm gonna go back, see if I c'n pick her trail back up," he said, turning away from Beth as the medic began cutting her boot off of her.

"Daryl," she said, and he turned at the sound of her voice. He found himself doing that a lot lately; heeding her whims. "Take your gloves so that you're warmer."

She pulled them off, but as he held his hand out for them she clasped his cold hand in her warm one and said, "Come back safe."

"I will," he told her gruffly. He took the offered gloves as her hand slid out of his and gave her a final nod, hesitating for a moment to soak her all in. Then he turned and wove his way through the crowd, headed back for the forest.

Just as he passed one of the police cruisers, a hand on his arm stopped him short. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask…" Rick's sentence faltered as Daryl turned to look at him. Standing there, Rick looked just as cold and miserable as the rest of them.

"Daryl," he said suddenly, not bothering to hide the shock in his voice. "What're you doing here?"

"Beth called an' said Sophia was missing," Daryl said, thinking it was pretty fucking _obvious_ what he was doing there. "She asked me t' help look."

Nodding, Rick smiled at him a bit. "That's awfully kind of you. But the weather is getting worse; we've decided to recall the search party. Barely anyone can see in there, and I've already got four adults we're having to look for on top of searching for Sophia. We're asking everyone to stay out of the woods until the weather lets up a bit, _if_ it does. If not, we'll have to resume our search in the morning."

"I grew up in the woods; I ain't gonna go get fuckin' _lost_," Daryl spat. "Besides, I had her trail. I jus' had t' bring Beth back; she got injured. I'm goin' t' go back t' where I left off before the ice covers all o' her tracks."

Rick seemed torn between letting him go and making him stay, but Daryl didn't wait for the decision to be made. He was going back to Sophia's trail whether Sheriff Grimes liked it or not.

He heard people pass by him on their way back to the highway as he strode along the narrow trail he and Beth had walked, but all he could see were light and shadows; their visibility was officially nearing zero.

Daryl stumbled along, tripping over things that his light didn't touch on until his feet had already met with them; irritated at how shitty it had gotten in such a short amount of time. Carol's stupid fucking husband couldn't have gotten drunk and killed himself last night when the weather was cold, but halfway decent?

He lost the damn trail three different times, needing to go back and blindly retrace his footsteps. By the time he found the clearing again, nearly an hour and a half had passed since he'd left Rick standing at the mouth of the forest. He circled around until he found the spot in the woods where Sophia's footprints had last disappeared into.

The ice was coming down in sheets, and Daryl had to tie the handkerchief he'd brought around the lower half of his face to protect it. The wind was so cold that it stole the breath right out of his lungs. Daryl knew that if he didn't find the little girl soon, they might not find her at all.

Nearly crawling along the ground to keep her shallow tracks in his sight, Daryl made slower progress than usual.

It wasn't until he found a small, worn, fabric doll that he realized he must be getting close. Feeling triumphant for the first time all night, Daryl snatched the torn doll out of the bush she was tangled in. He stood up, tucking the doll into his belt for safe-keeping.

"Sophia!" he finally shouted, hoping beyond hope that she would be brave enough, or scared enough, to take her chances with him if she heard him calling for her. "Sophia!"

He shouted as he walked, but the wind continued to whip his words away and throw them haphazardly through the woods. There was no telling if she could hear him; even if she was three feet away from him, it would be possible to completely miss her in such a fucking mess.

Finally, to his left, he heard a distinct rustling that didn't coincide with the rhythmic sounds of the brush blowing together in the storm. "Sophia!" He shouted, stomping his way through the foliage.

As he knelt down to check for her tracks, he began to call out to her again, but her name died in his throat as his flashlight broke through the dense hail and illuminated the meanest, ugliest sonofabitch that ever roamed the forest.

It was that _same_ fucking russet-colored demon that had chased Daryl into the river a few months ago.

This time, it was crouched inches from his face. Daryl wished briefly that he'd bothered to grab his hunting knife before he left his apartment, but he hadn't. It was just him, the sleet, his flashlight, and the devil before him.

Much like at the river, the dog fixated on Daryl, pulling his lips back in a vicious snarl. The creature tensed, and then sprang.

Daryl saw nothing but a streak of red muscle and spittle before he was taken down.


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N: Alright everyone, I hope you enjoy chapter 22! I hope you're all happy that I didn't leave you in cliffhanger hell for too long this time around. Right? RIGHT?!**

**As always, I really appreciate all of the reviews! Almost everyone really likes the story, so I'm glad that the really slow burn hasn't bored everyone to tears. I wasn't lying when I said I liked the slow build-ups best. Also, welcome to all of my newer followers and favoriters. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 22**

"He's been gone too long," Beth said for the tenth time. Her anxiety was escalating as she and Sasha sat and waited inside Sasha's little SUV. The sleet had finally begun to show a reprieve and the visibility was somewhat returning, at least. A few officers and leftover volunteers who'd opted to wait out the storm had eventually started to trickle back into the woods to resume their search efforts.

Daryl, meanwhile, hadn't shown back up since he left her at the ambulance, which was hours ago. As she waited, her mind tortured her with a hundred different scenarios of him in peril while she sat around in relative warmth. He could have fallen into another river or that ravine, or gotten himself caught in a trap, or even fell and hurt himself and couldn't make it back on his own…

But Daryl is nothing like her, Beth reminded herself over and over again. Daryl knew the woods more intimately than some men knew their own wives, and if anyone could survive the storm and find Sophia in the impossible elements, it would be Daryl Dixon.

Sasha patted Beth's hand comfortingly, although she looked half asleep with her head resting on her arm that was draped over her steering wheel. They'd all been out there for hours; the sun would come up pretty soon.

Suddenly, through the closed windows, they heard raised voices and shouts back and forth between the searchers in the woods. They both climbed out of the car to see what all of the commotion was about.

Finally, a figure broke through the trees, and Beth let out a choked laugh that bordered on a sob; it was Daryl. He was limping slightly as he walked, and Beth noted that his sleeveless arms were bare; his hair was caked at the tips with ice. Her eyes drifted over him, pausing at the smear of bright red blood, still freshly running, from his forearm, which looked torn and gruesome.

Lastly, her mind allowed her to shift her focus to the bundle he had in his arms.

Daryl was cradling a small body wrapped entirely in his jacket. Only two limp, skinny, pajama-clad legs protruded out from his huge coat, slung over his bloody forearm, swinging with each step that brought him closer. Beth felt the strength leaving her legs, and she sank to her knees on the sodden ground.

He'd done it; he'd found Sophia just like Beth knew he would. But they'd been too late.

Searchers had surrounded him, but Beth could only focus on the little legs slung over Daryl's mysterious injury, the little kittens and cupcakes printed on the pajamas blurring as tears filled Beth's eyes. Rick had walked over and Beth knew Daryl was saying something to him, but her ears were too filled with white noise to make out their conversation, and she was worried she was going to lose consciousness. It had been hours since she'd eaten, drank, or slept, and now that it was all over… her spent energy and heightened stress had left her nothing but a husk.

She thought about tiny little Sophia, with her short, light brown hair, her freckles and her beautiful eyes, hunkered down in the woods, alone, afraid, and freezing; until the life had left her small body. Beth couldn't help but wonder, if Daryl hadn't needed to carry her all the way back to the highway earlier, would he have found Sophia in time?

Someone had finally found and alerted Carol, and Beth's heart hurt as she watched the older woman lurch forward toward Daryl and Sophia. Boldly, Carol peeled Daryl's jacket away from Sophia's face; Beth could see that the child had a couple of scratches on her. She looked so peaceful, as though she could have been asleep.

Then, the girl's eyelids fluttered open, and a huge smile broke across her face at the sight of her mom standing over her. Carol plucked Sophia out of Daryl's arms and crushed her to her body, simultaneously laughing and crying as she swung the girl around in circles. The crowd had erupted in cheers and applause, plenty of people coming over to pat Daryl on the back or tell him he did a great job.

Beth suddenly realized that no one else looked as shocked as she felt; apparently, she'd missed the announcement that Sophia had been found _alive_. She seemed to be the only person who'd assumed the worst, and although she felt a little ashamed of that fact, it was eclipsed by the rush of relief. Sophia would go on to celebrate her eleventh birthday.

Beth climbed back to her feet, thankful that the painkillers the EMT had given her earlier hadn't yet worn off. He'd informed her that her ankle wasn't broken, but the bones were definitely badly bruised and possibly fractured, although only an X-ray could tell her for sure. He'd urged her to get to the hospital and have it looked at, but Beth had refused to leave without Daryl.

She turned her attention to the man in question, making her way through the crowd that had gathered around the scene. The pain in her ankle was still present, but dull, so she was able to hobble under her own power.

As she squeezed her way through the throng of people, she found Daryl staring down at Rick, who was crouched next to a giant dog. Not just any dog, Beth realized; it was the red monster that had chased her into the bramble bushes right before she'd met Daryl for the first time.

Carol set Sophia down on the ground, and the girl rushed over to the dog.

"Wait!" Beth shouted, stepping forward on her back ankle and cringing; but it was too late. The girl dropped to her knees and wrapped her skinny arms around the beast's massive neck, burying her face in its fur. Although Beth had expected a vicious retaliation, the dog just sat still and panted, not seeming to mind the young girl's affections.

Daryl turned to Beth after she cried out, his eyebrows raised in surprise. People were still trying to shake his hand and congratulate him, but Daryl ignored them and walked away, closing the distance between him and Beth until he was right in front of her.

"What the hell are you still doin' here?" he asked, unconsciously putting his hand on her arm. She loved that he'd gotten comfortable enough that touching her didn't weird him out so bad anymore.

She was so happy to see him; elated even. She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him, and how brave and selfless he was. It shocked her when the first words out of her mouth were, "What the hell took you so long?"

"Excuse me?" he said, his eyebrows pinching down in a scowl.

"You were gone for hours," she accused, feeling herself falling apart. The tears came quickly and streaked down her face in a flood. "I was so worried; I thought something terrible had happened to you! No one knew where you were, and you hadn't come back all night; you were just gone, Daryl! I thought you'd fallen into that ravine, or… or…"

"I think she's going into shock," Sasha whispered at Daryl's elbow as she came around to look at Beth with concern written all over her face. "Beth, sweetie, it's fine. Daryl brought Sophia back; everyone is safe. There's no need to be upset anymore, okay?"

Beth nodded, knowing how ridiculous she sounded. She covered her mouth with her hands, finding it impossible to quit crying. If anything, trying to stop was only making it worse.

Sasha elbowed Daryl and looked pointedly in Beth's direction. In turn, he glared at her until she left them alone.

As soon as Sasha strode off to go see to Carol, Daryl stepped forward and threw his jacket over Beth's shoulders, despite the fact that she still had her own jacket on.

"I'm so sorry," she said, wiping at her face. "I don't know what's wrong with me… If you hadn't been out there looking as hard as you did, Sophia wouldn't even be here. That was such a selfish outburst… I just… I thought something terrible had happened to you. I had such a bad feeling that something was wrong…"

She wasn't sure if Daryl was mad at her for yelling at him or not, but at the moment, all she needed was his comfort, so she did one more selfish thing and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled his mixed scent of sweat and motor oil. Being pressed against him, having him solidly under her hands was exactly what she'd needed, and she felt herself calming down.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Daryl murmured quietly, wrapping his arms around her in return.

"What happened to your arm, anyway?" she asked, looking down at the torn skin. The sight made her a little ill; it was very gory. So she turned her face to the other side and closed her eyes, listening to the erratic thumping of his heart, willing her stomach to settle.

"Your stuffed animal's fuckin' doppelganger attacked me," Daryl said, his voice rumbling through his chest.

"So something bad _did_ happen to you," she said accusingly, lifting her head to look up at him.

Daryl only smirked at her. "Maybe _this_ time. Just 'cause you get chased into bramble bushes an' step into damned animal traps while you're 'n the woods, doesn't mean we're all so accident prone, though…"

"I seem to remember _you_ falling into a river, once," Beth pointed out.

"Yeah, well, that fuckin' dog came at me, an' I slipped. Tha' shit was hardly my fault," Daryl argued.

"Wait, what dog? _That_ dog?" Beth asked, pointing to the red beast that was eying the crowd of people like he was willing to eat one of them.

"No," Daryl said, but she could tell by the way his jaw clenched that he was lying.

"You mean to tell me that you accused me of over-reacting and exaggerating my story about that red monster chasing me into those thorny bushes, and this whole time, you've been keeping it from me that the damn thing chased _you_ into a _river_?!" She couldn't believe it! Although, it really explained how Daryl was able to buy her a stuffed animal that was spot-on. She hadn't even remembered telling him the thing was red; but he'd apparently seen it up close and personal himself.

Before he could answer her, Rick came over and slapped Daryl on the back. "You did a great job, Daryl," he said. "I've been wrong about you for a long time, it seems. Without you, I don't know that we'd have found that little girl in time. Thank you."

Rick held out his hand, which Daryl hesitantly accepted, keeping one arm wrapped around Beth for support.

As they shook hands, Rick paused and checked over Daryl's bloody forearm. "That looks pretty serious; did the dog do that?"

"Yeah," Daryl admitted, "but he was jus' protectin' the girl. He was keepin' her warm; I think without the dog, she might not've survived out here so long. They were curled up t'gether near a fallen tree when I stumbled across 'em."

Rick nodded and said, "Pretty admirable of him, too, I guess. Just to be safe, I'm going to have the animal shelter take him in for observation for a few days, though. Let me know if the hospital needs any blood samples from him or anything."

Daryl nodded, and Rick smiled at Beth, tipping his hat. "Thank you, as well, Beth, for helping; and for calling in Daryl. You two saved the day."

Beth smiled at the sheriff and nodded, although she felt like getting caught in an animal trap and needing to be carried back by Daryl wasn't exactly her definition of 'helping.'

As Rick was walking away, Carol came over, and Beth felt Daryl tense around her. She could tell that so much attention from all these people was wearing him thin.

"Daryl, thank you so much," Carol said with tears streaming down her face. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you for what you did for Sophia and me. You saved both of us. Just… thank you."

Beth stepped forward and gave Carol a huge hug, saving Daryl the awkwardness of responding. "We're so glad she's safe," Beth said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Once they broke out of their embrace, Carol wiped her eyes and laughed a little bit. "I don't know if loss is the right word. Ed was my husband, and I loved him, but…" Carol pressed her lips together as if what she had to say was too terrible to speak. Beth understood all too well; she still felt guilty over what happened to Zach, and that wasn't anyone's fault. But he'd still been a terrible, awful person.

Finally, Carol looked back over at Daryl and told him, "You've done more tonight for my little girl than her daddy did for her in his entire life. You're a good man, Daryl Dixon. A good man."

After Carol walked back over to Sophia and the dog, Beth looked up at Daryl and realized his face was burning red.

"Well, I guess your secret's out," she said, hiding a smile as she looked back over the scene. People were finally departing, and getting back into their vehicles. News crews were off to the sidelines; Rick wouldn't let them past the perimeter he'd taped up. All in all, it turned out to be a great night.

"What secret?" Daryl asked gruffly.

"That you're an amazing person," she said, smiling at him.

"Didja hit your head while I was gone?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her; but if anything, his face had gotten redder.

"You can be mad about it all you want, Daryl, but it's done. Your bad reputation is hereby ruined."

"Shut it," he told her, but she should see the smirk on his face. "This is more fuckin' painful than the damn dog bite."

"Yeah, we should really get that looked at," Beth said, glancing back down at the torn skin.

Daryl grunted, but he held on tight to Beth as they both limped their way over to the last ambulance left; Carol and Sophia had already been ushered into the first one and it was on its way to the hospital with a police escort.

The medic that attended to Daryl in the back of the ambulance sterilized his wound and wrapped it up for him, but warned him that they needed to get to the emergency room so that he could get a host of shots to combat infection. As they made their way to Daryl's truck that was sitting desolate and alone further down the highway, now that most of the volunteers had cleared out and gone home, Beth felt her ankle begging to give out on her. Daryl seemed to notice, too, so without a word, he swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the truck. After they were all buckled in, he pulled back onto the highway and headed for the nearest 24-hour Emergency center.

Once in the ER, they were handed clipboards with forms to fill out and directed to take their seats in the waiting room. The night had gotten anti-climatic pretty quickly, and Beth felt the grogginess taking over. She curled up in the chair next to Daryl and laid her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the soft scratching of the pen against the paper as he filled out his set of forms.

She was nearly asleep when she felt him slip the clipboard out from under her folded arms. She heard scratching against that one, too, and he asked, "Is 'Beth' short for 'Elizabeth'?"

"No," she said, snuggling into his shoulder more. "It's just Beth."

"Middle name?"

"Emily."

"Birthday?"

"December 12th, 1990" she said, yawning.

"…December 12th is today's date," Daryl responded.

Realizing she wasn't going to get any sleep, she sat up in her chair and stretched, smiling at Daryl's frowning face.

"Believe it or not, this isn't the worst place I've spent a birthday," she told him. "The year before last, when I was still with Zach, he texted me this random address of the place I was supposed to meet him at, but wouldn't tell me anything else. He said he wanted it to be a surprise. I got there, and it was this weird hole-in-the-wall place with older, creepy patrons and fire dancers that were practically having intercourse on stage. It was extremely disturbing, and I kept getting leered at by this one older guy who looked like he was more interested in wearing my skin as a suit. So I got the hell out of there, but by then my phone had died, and I couldn't find another cab to hail to get back to my part of the city. I had to walk three blocks before I found a cabbie willing to pull over; it was terrifying. Then I got home and got my phone plugged in, and I'd had like 6 missed calls from Zach, and a whole slew of voicemails and texts of him basically telling me how terrible he thought I was for blowing him off, not answering my phone, and ruining the big night he supposedly had planned."

Beth laughed a little at the memory as she looked down and scraped some dirt off of her nail bed. She definitely needed a long, hot bubble bath whenever she made it back home; she was just as desperate to wash off the lingering memories as she was the mud.

She glanced over at Daryl and realized that he was glaring at the page in front of him, pen still poised to write, but he was tense and still, his jaw muscles clenched and hard.

"Don't let it bother you," she told him. She knew where his thoughts had led him. For someone who seemed so antisocial and aggressive upon first impression, Daryl had become shockingly protective of her as time went on. It was no use having him stress out over events that occurred before they'd even met, though.

"I hate tha' fucker," Daryl said simply, glancing over at her from under his bangs.

She shrugged off his anger, trying for a lighter mood. "It was an adventure. That's all life is, Daryl; a series of adventures. You go from one to the next and hopefully you're made whole by the good experiences and you learn from the bad. It was an unfortunate time in my life, but now I know what warning signs to look for in people like Zach; next time, I'll know to not get involved. And that misadventure led me here, to the cabin; to Carol and Sophia, Lori and Rick, Sasha… it led me to _you_."

They stared at each other for a moment until the door to the waiting room opened and a nurse with a clipboard called out "Daryl Dixon."

He hesitated, obviously not comfortable with leaving her alone. She smiled at him as he considered what to do. "I'll be right behind you. I'll meet you back out here when we're all patched up, okay?"

Chewing his lip, Daryl nodded. He handed her clipboard back to her and then went over to the nurse with his paperwork. Before stepping through the door, he glanced back at Beth like he was concerned about leaving her still.

She stuck her tongue out at him, which earned her a confused scowl before the door shut, and she was alone.

Not long after, Beth's name was called, and they wheeled her back for X-rays. Thankfully, just as the EMT at the site had said, her bones were pretty bruised, but nothing had been broken or fractured. They re-wrapped her foot tightly, put her sock back onto her, and then Velcroed one of the blue boots onto her to keep her ankle sturdy when she walked on it.

Since she'd forgotten her purse at Sasha's, Daryl paid for both of their visits; Beth was thankful that her medical insurance wouldn't lapse until the very end of the year, so she got by with only a minor co-pay to worry about before she had to worry about the X-ray bills rolling in.

As they had driven back to Beth's cabin, the storm was raging on. The windshield wipers were on full-blast in the attempt to keep the view of the road clear, and Beth was so thankful that Daryl had been able to locate Sophia in time.

Beth laid her head back against the seat in the truck because it had become too heavy to hold up. The exhaustion of the day, combined with the painkillers that the ER issued her, were mixing into a concoction of drowsiness that she hadn't experienced in quite awhile. She rolled her head to the side and stared up at Daryl's profile as he drove, the blue glow from the after-market CD player lit up the edges of his face, touching upon every little hair on his stubbly chin, making him seem otherworldly.

After a few minutes, Daryl glanced at her and visibly flinched. "Jesus Christ… what the hell are you starin' at me for? I though' you were asleep."

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but glanced back over at her briefly, contemplating his answer.

"Yeah, I guess I could stay," he said slowly. "Still too scared, bein' in the cabin alone?"

"No, not tonight," she said with a smile, feeling her eyes slide closed.

She woke whenever she felt Daryl park and shut the truck off. The elements were viciously attacking the outside of the vehicle, and as she sat up, Beth knew getting into the cabin wasn't going to be fun.

Daryl cursed under his breath, seeming to realize something. "I forgot y'left your purse at what's-her-face's house…"

"Sasha," Beth corrected him, grinning at his general disinterest in people; except for her, apparently. "But it's no big deal; I keep a spare key hidden outside, just in case."

"A'right," he said. "Ready when you are, then."

Beth felt like her head was swimming a bit; whatever they'd given her at the hospital to manage her pain was a lot stronger than what she'd taken in the ambulance a few hours ago.

Feeling a little disconnected, but pleasantly so, Beth grinned over at Daryl and said, "Okay, on three. One… Two…" Daryl frowned at her sudden onset of energy, as she shouted, "THREE!"

She jumped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. She slid in the mud a bit, but made a ridiculous running-hobble toward the house. The sky poured down on them, and before she even made it across the driveway, she was drenched. Daryl came around to her and grasped her under the elbow to keep her from slipping and falling. She headed off to the side of the porch and waded into her flooded flower beds, digging around in the mud.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Daryl said above the noise of the rain as he stood there being pelted with it.

"Looking for my hide-a-key rock!" Beth answered back.

"Why the hell is it down here 'n your garden with th' rest of th' damn rocks?" Daryl shouted back.

She flashed him a ridiculous grin as she looked over and saw how all of his dark hair was slicked down over the contours of his grumpy face. "I thought it'd be harder for someone to find," she admitted, laughing.

"Good call," he answered back sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Hurry up!"

She finally found the pile of rocks she sought and grabbed all four of them, hobbling over to the front steps. Daryl steadied her again as they climbed up into the shelter of her covered porch.

He eyed her armful of rocks and said, "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

"It's one of these," she told him, dropping them all on her Welcome mat and rolling them over until she found the one with the hidden plastic cap that contained her key. After she popped it out, she unlocked her door and they both went inside.

Daryl shook the water out of his hair like a dog as soon as she got the door closed, and then he glared at her. "No damn sense at all," he told her; a comment reminiscent of when she'd hopped in front of his grocery cart about a week after he'd led her out of the woods for the first time.

"Well, I figured having a lone rock sitting on my porch might be kind of obvious," she said, smirking at him.

He grunted at her as a response, but she could see the slight upturn of his lips as he turned around to take his muddy boots off.

The burst of energy she'd expended from the truck to her cabin left her more fatigued than she had been beforehand, so she turned and limped across the floor, not bothering to worry about the muddy footprints she was leaving in her wake.

She heard Daryl pad over to her softly in his bare feet, barely even limping anymore; they'd apparently given him something to take the edge off of his injuries, too. He picked her up without a word, and carried her back through her bedroom and into her bathroom, where he set her back down and helped her take a seat on the edge of her tub.

He took her muddied blue boot off, tossing it into the bathtub, and then peeled her sock off of her foot. Luckily, the elastic medical wrap underneath was still clean and dry. He wet a towel she had lying next to her sink and then wrung it out before handing it over to her. She thanked him, wiping down her face and arms.

"You need dry clothes," he said.

"They're all in my dresser," she told him, standing from the edge of the tub. By the time she'd made it to the door jam, Daryl was already standing at her dresser.

"Top drawer," she told him, when he hesitated, awaiting instructions.

He opened it, froze, and then slammed it back shut again, turning to glare at her. She could see his ears turning red.

Beth had to work at holding back her laugh, and she nonchalantly said, "What? I need new panties, too. Unless you think I should just go to bed buck na…" She was interrupted by the pair of underwear that Daryl quickly plucked out of her drawer and tossed at her face; he seemed very intent on stopping her from finishing her sentence.

Despite her exhaustion, she couldn't help the huge smile adorning her face. Sometimes, he was just too easy to screw with.

"The second drawer has pants, and the third drawer has all of my casual shirts. There's a red one in there that was my older brother, Shaun's. I took it to sleep in, but it's huge; it'll probably fit you."

Daryl narrowed her eyes at her like he didn't quite trust her not to pull another trick on him, but then he finally complied, riffling through the rest of the dresser and plucking out things for them to sleep in.

After he'd tossed her whatever pajamas he'd grabbed, she went back into the bathroom and closed the door to give them both the privacy to change. After clumsily pulling her dry clothes on, she ran the wash cloth across her hair and ponytail, just trying to get off as much dirt as possible before going to sleep on her nice pillow.

When she came back out of the bathroom, Daryl had on the red shirt, which did indeed fit him, albeit slightly more snug than he generally wore his clothing. But he was standing in the middle of her room with his arms crossed, still wearing his soggy pants. That would pose a problem; not because she cared if Daryl was in his underwear, but because he was strangely prude for a huntsman. She got the feeling he didn't let his guard down around very many people, even when it was for something as trivial as taking some wet clothes off.

"If you take your pants off, I can throw them in the dryer for you," she said, sitting on her bed. The effort of standing and walking was too much; she was fading quickly.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don' really wanna be walkin' aroun' your place half naked," he said.

"I've already seen you in your boxers, remember?" she told him.

His eyes widened in alarm and he asked, "What? When?"

"The night you fell into the river. You were so out of it by the time we got back that you didn't even wait for me to leave the room before you started to undress."

All he said was, "Oh…"

"I won't peek, if that's what you're worried about. Scout's honor," she said, grinning at him a little.

He swayed on his feet a bit as he contemplated his dilemma; his pants were soaked and cold, and he couldn't sleep anywhere wearing them anyway. He told her he'd stay the night, and it was still storming out, so he couldn't drive home. Finally, with his own fatigue settling in on his face, he began undoing his belt, and untangling himself from his sodden trousers.

Beth pulled the covers back and crawled into bed, tossing the second pillow down beside her. "Come on. Try to get some sleep."

She expected him to argue, or at least act appalled at what she was suggesting. It was a testament to how out of it he was as well, though, when he barely hesitated before grabbing a folded blanket off of her chair by the window, and then laid down next to her in bed, on top of her comforter. He pulled the blanket onto himself and they both lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Beth reached up and turned out her bedside lamp, enveloping both of them in darkness.

Apparently, while most people felt more weak and afraid in the darkness, it only seemed to give Daryl strength and make him bolder.

"I spent one o' my birthdays here," he told her, continuing the conversation she'd started in the waiting room.

"Here?" she asked, confused.

"Yeah, 'n this cabin," he confirmed, shifting to get more comfortable. "When my da' would really get his temper goin', I used t' sneak outta the trailer when I could, an' I'd come here. It was so buried 'n the woods, no one really knew about it, not even Merle or my da'. So I'd hide out here; lay low. One year, I think I was turnin' ten or eleven, an' it was righ' in the middle o' summer, so I was home all day with my da' most o' the time. Merle'd always had places t' be durin' the summers anyway, but I think that summer, he'd been locked away in juvie… Anyhow, da'd gotten himself plastered, an' he got into a rage 'bout somethin' or other; he started cussin', throwin' liquor bottles at me… Most o' the time, Merle was a shit brother, but he at least usually remembered my birthdays. Maybe not the exact day or anythin', but he'd at least remember it sometime within the week an' get me somethin'. He'd bring me home a handful o' candy bars or whatever. But this year, he wasn't aroun' an' my da' had plum forgot. So when his temper flared, I snuck out the bathroom window. I walked all the way t' town an' jacked a slice o' cheesecake outta the grocery store. I didn't even like cheesecake, it was just the only thing not in full view of the baker who worked there; he knew me an' my brother in a bad way, so he'd have been eyin' me if he'd seen me in there. I stuffed the cheesecake in my jacket, an' then walked all the way back t' the cabin. I spent my birthday on the roof, watchin' the fireflies in the trees."

Beth listened quietly to the story until he was finished, and then they laid in silence for a minute; him caught up in memories, and her envisioning Daryl as a kid, laying on her roof, celebrating his summer birthday with stolen cheesecake and fireflies.

"How often did you come here, back then?" she asked, feeling like the answer was important for some reason.

"A lot," he answered simply. "It was the only place I ever felt safe."

"Do you still feel safe here?" she asked, turning her face to him, although she couldn't make out his features in the blackness blanketing them.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "I do."

Smiling at his honesty, Beth turned her head back to the ceiling.

"Happy birthday," he said quietly.

"Thank you..."

Much like she'd done that first night she slept in his apartment, she felt Daryl's hand search hers out in the dark, and when they touched, he twined his fingers with hers. The warm, rough texture of his hand was both exhilarating and comforting at the same time. She squeezed his hand in a thankful gesture, and together, they drifted off into their drug-induced abyss.

**A/N: I realized after I posted that the sun was set to come up soon after Daryl showed up.. and then I ended it in darkness. I didn't forget about the sunlight, I'm just super tired and totally didn't do a good job of implying that the darkness is from the overcast storm. So, sorry about that... but yeah. That's why it's dark. It's winter and stormy, and just... dark. I'm done with words for today... =P**


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